


Never To See The Stars Again

by YourLoyalBlogger



Series: The Stars Series [1]
Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Humour, Hurt/Comfort, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-01
Updated: 2012-03-26
Packaged: 2017-10-31 22:56:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 84
Words: 115,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/349268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YourLoyalBlogger/pseuds/YourLoyalBlogger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post Reichenbach Fic. All the things that were missed. Takes place directly after the Fall. Reactions, the funeral, the great hiatus and much much more.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

_"John.."_

_"Hey Sherlock, you ok?" You better be ok mate.._

_"Turn around and walk back the way you came"_

_"No I'm coming in.." Sherlock...what's going on?_

_"No. Just do as I ask!...Please."_

_"Where?" Where are you Sherlock?..What's going on?_

_"Stop there"_

_"Sherlock?"_

_"Ok, look up. I'm on the rooftop"_

_"Oh god." Shit._

_"I..I can't come down, so we'll just have to do it like this"_

_"W..What's going on?"_

_"..An apology. It's all true"_

_"What?"_

_"Everything they said about me...I invented Moriarty"_

_John's blood ran cold. Something dropped in his chest. " Why are you saying this?" I know you're lying Sherlock.._

_"I'm a fake."_

_He could hear the emotion in his friends voice. Panic ran through him. "Sherlock.."_

_"The newspapers were right all along. I want you to tell Lestrade, I want you to tell Mrs Hudson and Molly..in fact tell anyone who will listen to you, that I created Moriarty, for my own purposes."_

_John wavered, trying to decide if he should move or not. He had to get to Sherlock. "Ok, shut up. Shut up. The first time we met, the first time we met, you knew all about my sister. Right?" See? Proof! Just stop this! Please..._

_"Nobody could be that clever"_

_"You could" You always could. No not could, you are that clever, Sherlock._

_A pain-filled laugh, oh Sherlock...no..please don't do what I think you're planing to do. Please, god no._

_"I researched you. When we met, I discovered everything I could to impress you. It's a trick. Just a magic trick"_

_"No. Alright stop it now!" He made his way towards the hospital. Thats enough Sherlock.. Im coming up._

_"No! Stay exactly where you are. Don't move"_

_"Alright.." Oh god, he could see Sherlock reaching out to him, shit. Sherlock, please don't do this. Just stop this right now._

_"Keep you eyes fixed on me. Please will you do this for me?" He could hear him crying. Sherlock was crying. John's heart was breaking. This couldn't be real. This could not be happening._

_"Do what?"_

_"This phone call...um...it's my note. Thats what people do, don't they? Leave a note"_

_No. No. He shook his head. "Leave a note when?"_

_"Goodbye John"_

_"No...don't"_

_Sherlock through the phone to the side, his last lifeline to the living discarded on the rooftop._

_"SHERLOCK!"_

_"Sher.."_

_And he fell. Horror, dread. He ran. He was knocked down. Images of his broken friend flash before his eyes._

_"Jesus no...god no"_

_Blood, so much blood. His eyes were open, staring into nothingness. Never again to be filled with life, passion, never again able to see the stars. He was gone. Sherlock was gone._

_No._

_"SHERLOCK!"_

\---------

He sat up suddenly, panting, sweat pouring from his brow. He shivered, wrapping the sweat covered sheet around him and moving his legs over the side of the bed. Just a dream. Another nightmare. His therapist said it would take time for them to fade away. He'd been through a terrible ordeal. It wasn't going to stop anytime soon.

And part of John didn't want for it to stop. For a small second, just a small one, Sherlock was alive and speaking to him and then everything came crashing down. Literally. And then everything that came after...just made things so much worse.

He'd stumbled and the paramedics and helped him into Bart's to be checked over. Said he was in shock and had a concusiion. All John could think about was that somewhere in the morgue, Sherlock was lying on a cold slab. Molly...shit, she'd see him. Oh god. The doctor in front of him shined a light in his eyes, trying to get his attention.

"What?"

"I said you're free to go. Do you have anywhere to stay tonight? Anyone who can look after you?"

John's face screwed up. Who did he have? ..Jesus, he was going to have to tell Mrs Hudson..and Mycroft. He nodded. The doctor patted his arm, giving him a grim smile and directed him to reception. "We...may need you to come and identify the body...it can wait till tomorrow if you like. You're still in shock." John just nodded, dismissing the doctor with a wave of his hand and left to fill out some forms.

The walk up to his front door felt surreal. What did he tell her? How could he tell her? He damn well wasn't going to follow through with Sherlock's request. His last request. He ran a hand over his mouth and turned the doorknob. The burly, tattooed man was gone, the ladder still there. Mrs Hudson cooed from their...his flat. John limped up the steps. Limped. It was back. Sherlock had caused it to leave and now that he was gone, it had returned in full force.

"There you are dear. Did you get what you forgot?" She smiled brightly, handing him a cup of tea and looking behind him. "Sherlock not with you?"

"What?"

"You left in a hurry dear, I thought you must have forgotten something. Don't tell me he's still sorting out things at the Yard. I've made a nice dinner for you two, to make things better." She seemed so happy, John didn't want to have to be the one to tell her. But there was no one else. Not anymore. He was the only one who still believed in him. Who knew the truth.

"Mrs Hudson..."

"John are you ok?" She had caught sight of his pale, tear stained face, the small bandage on his brow. She sat down next to him on the couch, watching his hands shake. "Whats the matter dear.. has something happened?"

"Sher-...Sherlock"

She frowned. "Did he do something to upset you? Really, the boy needs to work on his manners, doesn't he?" John looked to the ceiling, blinking back tears. He took a deep breath. "He's...he..oh god" His head fell into his hands. He felt an hand on his shoulder. Another breath. The doctor turned to look at Mrs Hudson.

"He's dead"


	2. 2

Lestrade leaned back on his chair, feet crossed on top of his desk. He sipped his coffee, his mind still on the problem of Sherlock Holmes. What was he going to do with the kid? He still believed in him...ok he had doubts but he'd known the guy way before he became famous, he may be a jerk but he wasn't a criminal or a liar.

A rap at the door.

"Yeah, come in." A young man, new in the force, popped his ginger, baby-faced head around the corner. "Inspector Lestrade?" Greg motioned for him to enter, the boy did so, closing the door and looking nervously around the room. "What can I help you with son?"

"Um.. theres been a suicide, off St Bart's Hospital, Sir"

"Not my division"

"I know Sir...but um, they said you'd want to know about this one"

Greg leaned forward, placing his feet on the floor, curious. "Oh? Alright then, who was it?"

"Sherlock Holmes, Sir"

"No..."  
\--------

"Im sorry...but...I.. I saw it. I.. he just jumped." John's voice faded away, putting his head back into his hands, his shaking hands. "John.. he can't have, he's not like that." John shook his head. "Everything was going wrong, they all blamed him, they all believed Moriarty's lies. I guess... things got to much...even he must have a a breaking point..had.. a breaking point...shit"

Mrs Hudson, buried her face into John's shoulder and cried. John cried with her. Pouring out their sorrows into the other. Mrs Hudson was all he had left now. The two of them against the world, against the haters, the doubters, the story tellers.

"Did he say anything?"

"Just...goodbye. Thats all he said... goodbye."

"Him.. of all people. I never..." She chocked back a sob. "Does his brother know?" John shrugged, it hadn't been released to the press yet, a small comfort provided by the hospital. "Who knows, with him. He has eyes and ears everywhere but...I don't know. Suppose I should tell him..but...I don't want too."

"He needs to know John... he's his brother."

"Yes.. but..you don't understand, part of this was his fault. He said some things and it backfired. And now Sherlock's..." He couldn't seem to form the words 'Sherlock's dead'.

\--------

"...This a joke, right?" He gave a nervous laugh. "This is some kind of joke"

The boy shook his head. "No Sir. They said he jumped off the rooftop, a few hours ago. Killed instantly. They said you'd want to know..."

This couldn't be real. Sherlock would never do such a thing. He felt the life drain out him. He put his coffee cup on the desk, and rubbed his hands over his face. "They're certain it's him?"

"Well the body hasn't been officially identified yet but...there was a witness."

"Who?"

"John Watson, Sir"

Shit.

"Ok, hold my calls, Im going to check this out for myself. Don't..don;t tell Donavon and Anderson ok? I plan to have words with them myself" He stood, moving to pull on his jacket and left the office as fast as if his life depended on it.

\--------

As he entered the morgue, he spotted a familiar figure hunched over one of the bodies. "Molly?" She jumped, turning around quickly, brushing the hair out if her eyes. Her eyes and nose were red. She gave him a quivering smile. "Hi..um..Greg, right? C-can I help you?" He walked up to her, wanting to give her a hug or let her know everything would be ok.

"I came to see if it was true"

"You know then? Um.. of course you know, you're the police. Uh..he's here. I..I haven't cleaned him up yet, there was a bus accident and that sort of took me away from...him. Are you sure you don't want to wait?" He placed a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sure. I have to see for myself."

She nodded and moved away from the body behind her and to end of the table. Molly reached over and unzipped the body bag until it revealed just his face. White, deathly white. Pale eyes stared upwards, chilling his soul. There was so much blood, all over his face. It was definitely him. "Shit. God.." You idiot. You bloody idiot! What possessed you-..

"Definitely him?"

"DNA doesn't lie.. plus... John... he was there so...I didn't want to believe it. He told me to leave, said he had some business to take care of and then the next thing I know, they're telling me someone jumped off the roof. And.. and I came down here and it was him. It was Sherlock.." Her voice ran a mile a minute, shaking and squeaking with grief. "I never told him...but..it never would have mattered to him anyway.."

Lestrade found an empty table and pulled himself up on it. Hands fidgeting. What did he do now? Comfort John? John wouldn't even want to see him. Firstly he needed to keep this out of the press for a short time. Give those grieving a little space. "I better.. go see John.. and..can I talk to your superiors?" She nodded and led him from the room.

Greg turned, giving the body one last look. Why, Sherlock? You were becoming a good man, no matter what the media says, I know you and this.. this isn't you. This is not something I ever thought you were capable of being. And it's my fault.. isn't it? I doubted.. and it drove you to fall. Ha... probably deducing up there right now aren't you?

Bloody fallen angel.


	3. 3

"Sir?"

Mycroft looked up from his files, resting his elbows upon the desk. "Yes?" The man gulped and looked at everything except his boss. "Theres, um something on the CCTV you need to see." He left quickly, not wanting to be the bearer of this bad news. Mycroft raised his eyebrows, grabbed his umbrella and followed his employee.

* * *

"This better be worth my time." Anthea gave him a worried look. "What? What is it? Why are you all looking at me like that?" Anthea seemed the only one brave enough to speak. "You haven't planned anything with your brother at all? Have you?" Mycroft raised his eyebrows once more, confusion spreading across his features. "No, we aren't exactly on speaking terms right now. Why do you ask?"

Anthea looked over at the other's in the room. "Something happened a few hours ago, Mr Holmes, something you need to see.." She motioned for one man to leave his seat and sat in front of the screen, searching for the right videos. Mycroft stood behind her, his heart pounding with anticipation and worry. Anthea took a deep breath and pressed play.

_A figure stood on the rooftops, a phone to his ear. He then threw the phone to the side, put his arms out and jumped. Anthea switched over to another camera, this one showing a bleeding body on the ground. She zoomed in to reveal.. the bloodied, broken face of Sherlock Holmes._

"No. This has to be fake. No." Mycroft shook his head, turning his back to the video. "It's not faked Sir.." Mycroft sighed. "When did you get these?" She looked over the the man who had been occupying the station. "A few hours ago Sir.."

"A few...why I am only hearing about this now? What do I pay you all for?" The man jumped, ashamed and to be honest, quite frightened. "Im going, when I come back you better have a good explanation for leaving me in the dark. In fact... just don't be here when I return."

* * *

"Molly Hooper?"

She jumped a few centimetres in the air. "Oh.. you're.. you're Mycroft aren't you? Um.. he's not here right now, Inspector Lestrade came in and identified him, they were going to ask John but&he's not doing to well right now, you could come back later? If you want...I mean.. of course you would want.. Im sorry I'm rambling aren't I?"

Mycroft moved towards her, causing her to back into a table. "Is it really him? Don't lie to me, Miss Hooper. Is it really my brother?" She bit her lip, her eyes tearing up and nodded. "Yeah, it's him. I mean.. I saw him and.. John saw him j-jump and DNA doesn't lie. I..I'm sorry." Mycroft placed a hand over his face, the other gripping the handle of his umbrella tightly. "I didn't want to believe it. The stupid idiot. What on earth possessed him?" Molly looked over at the wall.

"Things weren't going to well were they?"

"What?"

"I mean.. he was arrested and the media was all over him, calling him a fake, a liar, a criminal, he was so agitated while he was here.. but I didn't think for one second that he would do something like this. I guess he was just pushed to far a-and couldn't take it anymore."

"He wouldn't do something like this. I mean.. he's overdosed more than once.. but..he never really wanted to k-..to kill himself. The fact that he has done it, things must have been worse than I thought. You said John saw it happen. How is he?"

Molly shrugged, she'd only seen Lestrade. "I don't know. I haven't seen him. Only you and Inspector Lestrade. I think he went home though.. I suppose he had to tell Mrs Hudson.." Her voice broke at the thought of dear Mrs Hudson finding out about Sherlock. Mycroft nodded. "Are they.. working on him right now?" She shrugged again. "Im not sure.. I could check for you?" He gave her a quick nod, allowing her to quickly leave the room.

Sherlock...why have you done this? Why didn't you tell me things had got this bad? I have always been here for you, I would have helped you, without question. Now you're gone...you've left me all alone. I don't have time for friends, you and your friends were the closest I had to friends, to family and now you're gone. My little brother...

* * *

"You can come in here Mr Holmes.. just make it quick.. technically you aren't allowed in here but.. I suppose you wouldn't care about such things." She popped her head around the door and led Mycroft to one of the autopsy rooms. There was a single, chrome table, in the middle of the room. A body covered by a plain, white sheet.

Molly rushed over and delicatly raised the sheet off Sherlock's face. Someone had cleaned his face, closed his eyes. He looked so peaceful, relaxed. "He looks like an angel...I'm sorry.. I shouldn't have said that.." Mycroft shook his head. "It's alright. Could you give me a moment alone please?" She gave him a sad smile and nodded, closing the door behind her.

* * *

Mycroft brushed away a stray, black lock from his brother's face. "I keep asking myself, why. Why Sherlock? I know we haven't really been the best of brothers for some time now. Maybe thats my fault. But I always thought if things got bad, if you were in so much trouble you could think of no way out, that you would come to me. You know I always looked out for you. You called it spying, I called it looking after the only family I had left. Now I don't even have that anymore. What will my purpose be, Sherlock? Now that you're gone? Of course I'll stay with my job.. but... hm!" He cleared his throat, trying to not cry, trying to keep things together.

"I'll watch over them for you, I promise. I won't let anyone I know, believe the lies. Not that they would. I'm proof that it wasn't all an act." He placed his hand against his brother's cold cheek. "I know you won't believe it, but I'll miss you Sher-...look at what you're doing to me! I said caring wasn't an advantage..that never meant I didn't care, that I didn't feel, that I didn't love" He took once last deep breath and placed a small kiss upon his little brother's brow.

"Goodbye, Lockie"

* * *

Molly gave Mycroft a shaky smile and waved goodbye before entering the autopsy room and turning to face the door, placing a box on the bench.

"Is he gone?"

"Yes"

"Good" She turned to see him sit up and wrap the sheet around himself. She flushed slightly before picking up the box again and handing it to him. "There's some clothes, I took them from the store room. Your own are a bit too obvious. I'm getting them cleaned for you, um..oh!" She put her hand in her pocket, taking out a key. "This is the key to my flat, I'll pick up some groceries after I'm done here"

Sherlock took them gratefully. "Thank you Molly, you don't have to do this you know. It's dangerous"

"Im happy to help you, you're my friend. But are you really planning to go through with this? I mean.. besides throwing yourself off the rooftop.."

He nodded. "It was the only way, I need them all safe, they don't know about you...but I can't stay with you for too long, Molly, I don't want you getting hurt too"

She was touched. He did care. He really did. "I never doubted you, Sherlock. You forget, I knew you before any of the others did. You're welcome to stay with me for as long as you need too."

"Thank you.."

"I better go and um.. let you change" She swung her hands about, then clasped them in front of her. "See you later then!" He smiled.

"See you, Molly Hooper'


	4. 4

Lestrade rapped lightly on the door, not knowing if he would have it slammed in his face, or be thrown out of the flat. It opened to reveal Mrs Hudson. "Can I come in?" She gave him a wavering smile, opening the door wider to allow him entrance. "He's upstairs...he's not doing so well. Neither am I, really" She closed the door behind him and led him up the stairs.

Greg's chest constricted as he realised, never again would he climb these steps to bring a case to the detective. Never again would he hear another brilliant deduction, never would he hear those sarcastic, dulcet tones, teasing himself, or John or insulting members of the Yard. Never again...those words made him so sad. He was only in the beginning stages of grief. He'd only just found out, only just seen the body of a man who regarded as a friend. He made his way up, with a heavy, guilty heart.

* * *

John could hear Lestrade in the room below. How dare he show his face here? He didn;t bother to turn or properly greet the man as he entered the room to stand behind John's armchair. "You have a lot of nerve showing up here,  _Lestrade_ " Lestrade sighed, moving to sit opposite John. "No! Not there. Over there" He pointed to the couch, no one sat in Sherlock's chair. Lestrade made his way to the other piece of furniture and say himself down. "I just came back from Barts...came to see how you were.."

"Really? Were you pleased to see him there? Cold.. lifeless.. were you glad to finally have him out of your hair, tell me Lestrade. He trusted you, I trusted you, but your  _Yard_ made him a criminal, a fugitive. I hope you're happy!" John refused to look at the other man.

"John.." Of course I'm not happy! Why would I be? He was my friend too.

"Dr. Watson. You don't get to call me John, not anymore."

"Im not happy, how could you even think that of me? I may not have known him as well as you did, but I have known him for longer. Of course I don't believe the lies. If it had been up to me, he would have never been arrested. I never thought it would come to this.. not for one second"

"Yeah well it did. And I had to see it. I had to hear my best friend break over the phone and then had to watch him ju- .. watch him fall." John's phone beeped. For a split second he expected to see a text from Sherlock. No...he's gone..he gone now. It was from Mycroft. He texted back quickly.

_I can't do this, not now. - JW_

_We have to do this, John. I need to talk with you immediately. I'm on my way over now. - MH_

"Great, thats's just great. Now Mycroft's coming. As if I didn't have enough to deal with right now." Lestrade stared at his feet. "I better go then...I am sorry, John, for what it's worth. I have to live with this guilt for the rest of my life. Knowing that I played a part in the death of a brilliant man." John nodded, waving his hands at the door.

"Whatever"

"Actually, you are going nowhere except downstairs with Mrs Hudson, Inspector Lestrade"

"Mycroft!"

"Downstairs. Now."

* * *

Lestrade swallowed, nodded at John and followed Mrs Hudson downstairs. "We're not doing this. I can't handle a Holmes here right now. Im sorry." Mycroft sat himself down on the couch, just like Lestrade. "We have to talk. You spoke to him, I need to know what he had to say, John. I must know"

"No.. trust me you don't want to know."

"I know it will be hard for both of us, just tell me. Please"

God why did he have to sound so much like his brother? Why did he have to  _be_ so much like his brother? John shook his head, his face twisting in remembered pain. "No.. he.. he was crying. Mycroft I could hear him. Like he was shattering into a million pieces, over the phone. Told me he was a fake. That Moriarty was never real. He wanted me to tell everyone. Tried to convince me it was all a lie. How could he say that? I would never believe it, I never will believe it. Im not stupid."

Oh Sherlock. "Perhaps he thought if you believe him a lie, his..leaving you would not be so painful" John snorted, followed by a hollow laugh. "Well he was wrong. It made it worse. He was breaking, and then broke and now Im that one thats broken. And I can't put the pieces back together. They're gone now. I was so alone... and then he appeared and now he's gone. So I'm back to being alone." His fingers rapped against the side of the chair.

Mycroft nodded, not really listening. His mind solely focussed on his little brother. Now he knew what he was thinking in his last moments. John was right, it only made things worse. This was all his fault. All of it. And he would never forgive himself.

"Thank you John" He stood, picking up his umbrella. "I'll see you again soon. Now I have the Yard to deal with." John suddenly shivered, as if Mycroft's mere words had made his blood run cold. No one crossed a Holmes, especially if their name was Mycroft.

* * *

He took the steps, two at a time and landed right next to the Inspector. "Come, Greg, I have some business to take care of with some employees of yours."

"Business? What business? Hey wait up! What business!"


	5. 5

"Where are we going?"

"Scotland Yard of course" Mycroft took out his phone, calling several people in rapid succession. Lestrade was terrified. He didn't consider Mycroft an enemy, but right now he was certainly not a friend. The car stopped, Mycroft waited for Greg to leave the vehicle before heading up towards Scotland Yard.

Inside was quiet. Too quiet. He knew that was cliché but this was the Yard! There was no one here, not a soul. "Where is everyone?" Mycroft kept walking, towards Greg's office. "Gone, I sent them all away" Greg stammered. "Y-you can't bloody do that!" Mycroft turned, freezing Lestrade with one look. "I just did, Inspector. Now, please shut up. You'll scare our guests". Greg turned to see the shocked, confused faces of Anderson and Sally.

* * *

"Inspector? What's going on?" Sally look from her boss to the tall, dark haired man beside him. "I don't know Sally. I don't know." Mycroft smiled at her, darkly sweet. It made her blood run cold. It was like looking into the face of a wolf. Elegant, strong but deadly, ready to strike as soon as the opportunity arose. He pulled out a small book from his inner suit pocket and turned to the middle. He then did something that chilled her to the bone. He read out her life story. Things he couldn't know, couldn't possibly know. And then he looked at her, that wolfish smile again.

"Who are you? How do you know all that?"

"Well my dear, I occupy a position in the British Government. Usually I maintain that it is only minor, but that's a lie." He removed his wallet, displaying quickly several cards. BSS, CIA, MI5... "In some ways I am the British Government, my job is such that I dabble in every part of it. They all come to me with their problems. It's why I was so easily able to dismiss the entire Scotland Yard so we could have our little talk."

"Look.. I don't care about your job, or who you are.. but you can't just dismiss the police!" Anderson was furious. Terrified but furious.

"I already have. Didn't you see? Didn't you..observe? I have that power, you're lucky I have no desire to abuse it. Well.. I normally don't. You two however present quite a problem. You see, you said somethings that hurt someone close to me, hurt them so badly, that it triggered a chain of events that have led to his death." Again the smile. "See those cameras?" They all turned to see every camera in the room turn away. "Now no one can see you. I could do anything and no one would ever know"

"Who's he talking about?" Sally turned to Lestrade, her eyes begging him for support. He gave her none. "Early this afternoon...there was a suicide of St Bart's Hospital..it was Sherlock. He .. um he killed himself, Sally" She stared at him with disbelief. Surely the Freak was to fond of himself and his brain to do such a thing.

"Whats that got to do with us? Look, he was a criminal who did a lot of terrible things. He was a fake, a fraud. A freak" Mycroft was suddenly right in her face, causing her to back into a wall. "Don't ever let me hear you say such filth again. You didn't know him. You never lived with him, like Dr. Watson, you never knew him before he was truly famous. You didn't know him at all, where do you get off making such allegations with no proof? Or do you simply believe so much in the skills of the man next to you, who you are currently having an affair with. Even an amateur forensic scientist would have examined the footsteps left by the kidnapper. My own people have done so, we have proof they did not belong to Sherlock Holmes, and if you go review your own evidence, you would see I am correct. So let me tell you, Sally Donavon. Sherlock Holmes was not a freak. No the only freaks in this room are you and your 'pal'"

His speech had rendered the entire room speechless. Anderson sputtered and choked on angry words. Lestrade had backed far away from the man he had once called a friend. "Mycroft..look.. I know you're angry, I know you're grieving, but, they haven't committed any crimes. You can't just lock them away" Thats what you want to do, don't you? Punish them? Can't say I blame you really.

Mycroft turned to stare at Greg. "Maybe I should lock them away. Lock them away forever or until they realise the error of their ways. Or perhaps I should let them go and just erase every aspect of their existence until, in the eyes of the law and the government, they cease to exist."

"Look... just who are you? Why are you doing this? Obviously you were a friend of the Fre-..Sherlock Holmes. But where do you get off trying to intimidate us like this?" Mycroft gave him a chilling smile, his eyes dead and cold. "Because he was and is dear to me and you have sullied his name. Because you are stupid and fail to observe. If you had you would have seen the name on my cards or at least figured out who I was by now. Really, Lestrade, these are the sort of people they allow in Scotland Yard these days?"

"Look, they're good at their jobs...usually.. I think they get the point. I get the point. I think you know how I feel about all this"

"WHO ARE YOU?" Sally screamed, pushing against Mycroft's chest, finally becoming brave enough to strike back. Mycroft spun around, his hand reaching his umbrella. He watched her hand reach for her baton.

"MYCROFT HOLMES! And I wouldn't do that if I was you, my dear!" He twisted the handle, revealing part of the steal that lay in the hollowed centre of the umbrella. A sword. She looked at Greg who motioned for her to put the gun down.

"You're related to Sherlock?"

"He was my little brother and you helped destroy him. I will never forgive you. You are fortunate that although he disliked you and your treatment of him, that he tolerated your ignorance and incompetence. It was not a trick, it was all real. A technique and ability that I nurtured and I myself have. And I will see, if you sully his name once more, that the both of you will never find another job in this city again, perhaps even the country if I'm angry enough." He slid the handle back down and nodded at Lestrade.

"Good day Greg, you are welcome at the funeral, they however, I never wish to see again"

And he left, leaving three terrified individuals, two confused and with unanswered questions, another so downhearted and sad that he couldn't even bring himself to cry.


	6. 6

Sally watched him leave with an open mouth. "Sir?" Lestrade was sitting at his desk, nervous, pretending to read the files left for him the previous day. "What is it Sally?" She gaped at him, how could he so readily dismiss what had just happened. "...It's not true...I mean.. Sherlock was a fake...wasn't he?" Lestrade looked up, fixing her with a glare.

"I don't know Sally, why don't the two of you, pop off and double check the fucking evidence!"

She jumped. She supposed she deserved his anger. Part of her believed Sherlock was a fake, a fraud but after meeting his brother, seeing her bosses reaction, a seed of doubt now spread across her mind. And Lestrade, he clearly already had doubts. "Now!" The two of them ran in the other direction, scurrying with their tails between their legs.

* * *

He wiped the rest of the sweat from his brow, discarding his now, wet shirt on the floor, just as the alarm clocked beeped loudly it's too cheerful fanfare. It had been almost a week. A week since his best friend, in the whole world, had killed himself. A week without laughter. A week without being woken up at three in the morning by maudlin violin tones. A week without the thrill of danger or adventure. A week without Sherlock Holmes. His best friend...

And today they were burying him, his broken body. Today was his funeral, his fucking funeral. John sighed and looked up at the sleek, black suit resting on his chair, mocking him. He stood, took a deep breath and went to take a shower. This day was going to be tough.

* * *

When he came out, Mrs Hudson was waiting. She was in a nice black dress, with a black coat wrapped around her. "You look wonderful dear." She smiled at him sadly, doing up his tie for him and fixing up his hair. "Thanks. Um, so do you" She waved her hands and choked back a sob. John wrapped his arms around her shoulders and steered her out the door, rubbing circles in her back.

The funeral was packed. So many people still believed in Sherlock. Look mate, look how many hearts you've touched, how many lives you've changed. And no ones more than mine. It was elegant, well, when things are organised by Mycroft Holmes, they would be wouldn't they? John's heart skipped a beat as they walked down the aisle to their seats. There was the sleek, black coffin, containing the body of the greatest man he'd ever know.

"Look how many people have turned up. Do you think he would have hated all this fuss?" John gave her a shrug and a half smile. "Who knows what went on in that funny head of his." A loud sniffle emitting from his side caused John to turn around. "Molly!". She was dressed in dark red and black, a handkerchief to her nose. "Oh Molly.." John made his way past Mrs Hudson and wrapped his arm's around the crying girl.

"Im sorry...look at me I'm a mess."

"It's ok, it's ok. I think we all are. He would've have probably got a real kick out of it."

"Y-yeah"

Mrs Hudson took out her own handkerchief and wiped the streaming mascara from beneath Molly's eyes. "Thanks" She took her spot besides John. "Im sorry... I haven't even come to see you or anything... things have been busy and..and..I wanted to but.." John stopped her by placing his hand on her own. "Its alright. I understand, it must have been very hard for you..seeing his b-...body" John's voice still caught on those words. Body, dead, Sherlock. Those words didn't belong together. Her lips quivered, a tear slipped past and down her cheek. "Yeah. It was the hardest thing I think I've ever had to do, my colleagues were very nice about everything though, which was a big help." Mrs Hudson sniffed but smiled back at Molly. And then the service started...

* * *

So many people spoke. People John had never met, clients of his and Sherlock's, and then of course the obvious. Mycroft. Mrs Hudson refused to speak, so did Molly. Lestrade must have felt he needed to voice his thoughts though, needed to apologise. Even though Sherlock would never hear those words. I'm Sorry. John watched as Lestrade took the podium, nervously clearing his throat.

"Some of you are probably wondering why I'm up here. I mean, I doubted him... I even.. arrested him. But I wish more than anything I could take it all back. Theres no way he was a fake. No way in hell. I knew him, before a lot of you, I guess. Back almost six years ago now, blimey. He was just this down on his luck kid, who just appeared out of nowhere and blew us all away with this amazing ability to see the connections no one else could." Lestrade bit his lip, wiping a stray tear from his eye.

"I should have never have doubted him, not for one second. And yet I did and now, because of me, he's gone and nothing will ever...will ever bring him back. And Im sorry...Im so sorry, Sherlock.." Lestrade's voice cracked and he dragged himself away from the podium before he broke into tears. Mrs Hudson and Molly were still sobbing. John so far hadn't shed a tear, ever the loyal solider. And now it was his turn. But what did he say? People might talk...

_People do little else_

Dammit, Sherlock..get out of my god-damn memories. John stood and headed down the aisle to the empty podium. He stood in front of it, in front of the coffin, in front of a waiting, crying audience. He had to take several deep breaths before getting the courage to begin.

"Sher-..Sherlock Holmes was my best friend. He brought back the colour, in my life, that I had lost after coming home from war. He.. A lot of you really don't...didn't know him. I saw a side to him, that he never really showed to anyone else. His human side, his playful side. He had feelings, he really did. He had emotions. S-Sherlock was just a very private man, in a lot of ways." John chuckled sadly, he wasn't even able to properly say his name anymore.

"He could be quite childish when he wanted too. He was, the most un-ordinary person I have ever had the pleasure to meet. So, I address the rest of this, really badly written eulogy to you S-Sherlock. I will never believe that you told me a lie. Nope. You were not.. a fake, I knew you, I lived with you. I saw your good days, when you laughed, smiled, when you teased me, when your eyes lit up with every new case. I saw your bad days, your sad songs on that..bloody violin, when ever you just forgot to eat, when you would run off without telling me your plans, when you had your Danger Nights."

"But you were...amazing. Yeah, I know people will talk, but I don't care. You could do things that no one...other than your brother I guess, could ever hope to do. You were my best friend, you were, in a lot of ways, my brother. And I will never, ever forget you. Sher..Sherlock Holmes, thank you. For everything. Sher-" Mrs Hudson had hurried forward, trying helping the distraught doctor down the stairs and to his seat. John stopped her in the middle of the aisle and walked back towards the coffin. There was one last thing he owed Sherlock.

He stood at attention, lifted his hand and saluted.


	7. 7

The service finished, people left their seats and piled out of the building. John stood by the door, seemingly shaking every single hand. He didn't pay attention to what they were saying however. It was all the same. Sorry for you loss, he was a great man, we'll miss him. Every word, every single sentence just slammed in that realisation. Sherlock was gone, he was never coming back. And John hated him because of it.

Outside, murmurs grew into loud voices. John and Mycroft looked at one another and rushed outside. There, emblazoned on the building opposite were the words:

**I BELIEVE IN SHERLOCK HOLMES**

In big, bright yellow letters. For the first time in a week, John let a proper, happy smile, pass his lips. He look over, spotting a familiar artist peeking out from the shadows. Thank you. Thank you.

* * *

The car ride to the cemetery felt like three years. And as he stood by the empty grave and watched the coffin slowly fall, it felt like a part of him was being buried along side his best friend. A part of his heart that would never truly heal. John stood by the, now filled in, grave, hands clasped in front of him, military straight. Everyone else seem to have left. John didn't care. He glared at the shiny, black gravestone. You bastard.

"John dear? I'm heading back now.. to prepare for the wake. Will you be ok to make your own way back?" He nodded. Dear old Mrs Hudson, England really would fa-...no don't use that word. Mycroft looked over from his position on the other side of the grave, not minding that more people had approached John about his brother than himself. John was the brother he could never be.

"I'll be off too"

"You coming to the wake?"

"Most likely, yes"

"Alright...see you soon then"

Mycroft's eyes seemed to give him a split second analysis before he nodded and left. John sighed and scuffed his feet against the dirt, before putting his hands in his pockets and walking out of the cemetery. Never looking back. Looking back made it too real because his shadow would be alone.

* * *

As Mycroft headed towards the gates he paused. There was Miss Hooper talking to a tall, thin man, in a skeleton marked hoodie and torn jeans. His mind told him to stop and observe, something was so familiar. The young man nodded and left Molly, who had finally seemed to notice she had an audience.

"New boyfriend?"

Molly looked flustered and tried to smile. "Not exactly... I mean..he's just a friend. Came to make sure I was ok..and everything." Mycroft gave her a dubious look. But was pleased she seemed to have moved on, relationship wise. "Good for you" He smiled slightly before leaving her alone in the cemetery.

* * *

" _What are you doing here?"_

" _I came to see"_

" _Don't tell me you were at the funeral too! What if someone had seen you?"_

" _I was careful."_

_"You can't be here!"_

_"Obviously I can because I am here"_

_"Sherlock..."_

_..._

" _Don't look now but my brother is watching us"_

" _Do you think he knows?"_

" _No, but he will.. you head back to Baker Street, I need to take care of something"_

" _Stay out of trouble Sherlock"_

" _Don't I always?"_

* * *

"That speech you gave, mate, ' was nice" A lilting, pleasing voice emmerged from the bushes. "I'm sorry do I know you?" The hoodied figure shook his head. "Nah mate, we've never met. But I think ya just saw me before, with Molly." Mycroft raised his eyebrows, watching the figure pull a cigarette lighter from his pocket and begin to flick it on and off. "Walk with me?" Curious, Mycroft complied. The two walked side by side, one with proper posture, regal in every sense of the word. The other hunched over, scuffing every second step, flicking the lighter as he walked. Disobedience and chaos personified.

"I suspect you know John..and Sherlock"

The man grinned. A tuft of red hair peeped out from beneath the hoodie. Though Mycroft had already made that deduction, the ginger stubble was more than obvious. "Yeah, on a case, few months back. The one about that horse, Silver Blaze, ya know, went missing just before the Melbourne Cup?" Mycroft nodded, he remembered the one. "Yeah, brilliant bloke that Sherlock and John was a real nice bastard. When I heard what had happened, had to come over and offer me respects"

Flick, flick, flick.

"Would you cease doing that please? It's annoying" Another wide grin, the young man slipped the lighter back in his pocket. "Makin' ya wanna smoke is it?" Mycroft stopped walking. "I don't smoke." 'Sure you do. Bit obvious. I could see the way ya were looking at it. Don't blame ya, stressful thing burying your only brother."

"Look is there a point to all this?"

"Steady on, steady on" The man had kept walking, leaving Mycroft behind. "Just wanted to tell ya something, thats all mate. Just one thing." Mycroft sighed, giving the man the benefit of the doubt. "And what, pray, is that?"

"That it's good to know that I can still fool you, Myc"


	8. 8

"..."

"Oooh! Did I just render you speechless? No.. that's mean, sorry, things have been a little weird for me lately." He turned around, gave the streets a once over, before walking over to Mycroft and removing the hoodie so it revealed his face.

"Sherlock..." Of course it had to be him. No one else would know that childhood nickname. But he still couldn't believe it. He wanted to hug him, punch him, lecture him.. The man in front of him though, was a ghost. Foolishness, there was no such thing of course. And yet here one was, a spirit, spectre of his little brother. And he was ginger?

"What happened to your hair?"

Sherlock gave him a secretive smile.

* * *

_Molly had returned home from a long, stressful day at work. Yes things could get stressful in a morgue. But at least her "client's" didn't talk back. That would be..awkward really if they did. She dropped her bag on the floor and headed to the living room, expecting to see her house guest in the exact place she left him. Half on the couch, half off, complaining of boredom. But he wasn't there..._

_"Sherlock?"_

_"Bathroom!"_

_Molly turned the corner into her hallway and towards the bathroom, the door was open. "Sherlock? Sherlock!" Curly black locks covered the floor. "Oh Sherlock.. you cut your hair!...and pretty badly too" She began to break out in giggles, a detective he was certainly, but a hairdresser? Definitely not._

_"On the floor Sherlock, you're too tall and your hair looks terrible"_

_He almost pouted. "I did my best."_

_"This for a disguise?"_

_"Yeah, bit less noticeable"_

_"Right.. not noticeable at all no. Is that why you haven't shaved all week?"_

_"Of course"_

_Molly evened out the dark, cropped hair and leaned back to inspect her handy work. "Much better" Sherlock stood and looked at himself in the mirror. "I suppose. Thank you. Did you buy the dye?" She covered a smile and nodded. "Yeah.. you're really going to dye your hair red?" He nodded reaching for the bottle. "Black's a bit.."_

_"Noticeable?"_

_"Yeah."_

_She had to admit, once it was all over and he stopped cursing at her because his eyes were stinging, after she'd stopped laughing at the almost childish fit he'd thrown because the dye was dripping down his cheeks, that he actually looked rather cute as a ginger._

* * *

"I see"

"No you don't"

Mycroft directed his brother to the car waiting outside the cemetery, using it as an excuse to touch his arm, definitely alive. "So.. obviously you are alive, though I'm at a loss as to explain how. No doubt I will figure it out soon enough. I can only assume you are not here to forgive me, but for help?" Sherlock nodded. It would take some time to forgive his brother but after witnessing first hand his grief, first at the morgue, secondly at the funeral, it wouldn't be all that long.

"I need to go away for awhile. People are in danger here if I stay"

"Thats why you jumped"

"I had no choice"

"Theres always a choice"

"Not this time, Mycroft, trust me. Now will you help me?"

"You never had to ask. You know I would without question. Except I do have questions. You aren't planning to go after Moriarty's web?" Another secretive grin. But he gave him that one. His heart was warmed by the fact that he could smile. That his brother wasn't a broken corpse beneath the ground, but a brilliantly alive body above it.

"That's exactly what I'm planning.."

* * *

Mrs Hudson fetched another cup of tea for Lestrade, who had just entered the flat. "Here you go dear, sit on the couch, nice and comfortable." Hardly anyone had come back. Molly was there, chatting to John, young Henry Knight was in the corner chatting to someone else. Mycroft wasn't there, but then Mycroft was a very busy man. He probably didn't do this sort of thing anyway. John muttered something to Molly, who suddenly began to talk to Mrs Hudson instead, allowing John to sit with Greg.

"You-Know-Who and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named send their condolences" John let his lips twitch at the Inspectors poor attempt at levity. "Do they now? Good for them" Lestrade brought the cup up to his lips, letting the warm liquid trickle down his throat. "I think they feel bad" John laughed.

"So they should. Idiots, the both of them" Yeah. "They've been reviewing the evidence.. I think they're starting to change their minds" John raised his eyebrows, secretly pleased. "Great.. thats really great, maybe you lot can actually do something worthwhile, like clear his name!"

"I intend to.. some how. I owe it to him. God help me"

"Yeah you do"


	9. 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I should state, when I initially wrote this I wrote it from our viewpoint. I.E Jan 15th >.> so yes I got that month wrong. So just pretend Sherlock jumped January 15th 2012 instead of July 2011. Also as of today I have written 60 chapters. So it may take a looong time to post all on here. Still not done yet.

One week had turned into two, then three, then a month, then almost three months. Three months had passed since his best friend had left the world. Three bloody months. John hadn't been able to return to Baker Street until now. He'd moved into a new flat, kindly provided by one Mycroft Holmes. It was roomier than his original flat but it felt..empty. Then again, so did he. Except today he was here to pack things away. Mrs Hudson wasn't accepting any new lodgers in 221b right now. Maybe never again. It wouldn't seem right.

But here he was anyway, in front of 221b with a load of cardboard boxes. Mrs Hudson was out, just as well, he'd probably get emotional anyway. No one needed to see that. He opened the door and headed inside. Nothing had changed. Nothing it all. He wished it had. It had all started here really. He still remembered running into this little entryway, panting, laughing. Full of adrenaline. It had been the start of something that had changed his entire life. How to you back from that? How do you go back to an ordinary life after one full of adventure?

" _And you invaded Afghanistan"_

_Laughter._

No. God this was going to be hard wasn't it? He climbed the seventeen steps and opened the door to their..his flat. It was exactly as he'd left it. As if someone was still living here. A certain curly haired someone. John placed the boxes on the floor and ran his fingers through his short hair. Where to begin? How do you pack away your friends life? He put away the papers first. Easiest thing. They were everywhere, littering the floor, the desk, shelves, the mantlepiece. Some were even under the skull. That damn skull. Staring at him, mocking him.

_Mrs Hudson took my skull._

_So I'm basically filling in for your skull._

_Relax you're doing fine._

No, no, get out of my head. Just get out. He delicately picked up the skull, a half empty box of cigarettes still beneath it. He placed it on top of the papers, a morbid paperweight. Next came the books, most of those could be thrown away or sold he supposed. Except this one.. The London A To Z guidebook. This he'd keep. He decided to make three piles. Keep, throw away and sell. This book was definitely a keeper.

_A book that everyone would own_

Shit. His eyes had fallen on the now dusty violin. His fingers itched to touch those strings but he would never be able to bring those chords alive like Sherlock could. Still. He picked it up, brushing away the dust.

_Dust is eloquent._

He nearly dropped it. Damn it Sherlock. He raised his fingers and then pulled them away. No, this instrument will never play music again. Never again will it come to life, playing christmas songs or happy tunes or maudlin chords. It would be forever silent. Perhaps that was for the best, it wouldn't be right for anyone else to play. It would be wrong. John put it in the Keep pile. Next came the cluedo board. This he could throw away. It only ever got played with once anyway.

_It's this or Cluedo._

_Noo, we are never playing that again._

Yep, definitely in the throw away pile. And that bloody harpoon, that could go too.

_Well that was tedious._

_You went on the Tube like that?_

_None of the cabs would take me._

John had the sudden urge to throw the harpoon into the wall.

* * *

He wandered into the silent kitchen, glaring at the leftover beakers and vials on the table. Everything reminded him of Sherlock. A red dressing gown over his chair, the smell of chemicals and cigarettes, his laptop. There was even still a nose, floating in who knows what, in the fridge. John bowed his head and pulled a box over to start cleaning up the kitchen. Mrs Hudson had already packed away most of the science equipment, neither knew what to do with it. Giving it away to a school seemed the right idea.

John held one of the beakers in his hand, which began to shake, a sudden bout of rage took over and he hurled the beaker at the wall watching it shatter into hundreds of pieces and fall like glittering snowflakes. "You bastard! You complete and utter bastard! I hate you!... I hate you.." The rest of the job was done in silence, with Sherlock making himself known every so often. John wished he would mind his own business and stay out of his head.

* * *

It had seemed only right that after packing away his life, that John should go and visit the man. As he trudged through the cemetery gates he was stopped by the caretaker. "Popular man your friend?" John gave him a quizzical look. "What?" The caretaker walked with him, pointing in the direction of Sherlock's grave. "Your friend. Most popular man in the cemetery right now. New visitor every day. John couldn't help but smile. They won't forget you Sherlock. They still believe.

* * *

"Don't know why I'm here to be honest. But, I figure I owe you. God help me I really do. Weird cases keep piling up without you. Thats one of the things that have proven your innocence. Course I should never have doubted it. God, what were you thinking? Did you think no one would care? That no one would notice you were gone? Bloody hell mate, I thought you were supposed to be smart." Lestrade reached over to touch the gravestone affectionatly before stepping back, spotting the two new shadows behind him. "Gotta go mate...thanks for everything"

"Sir"

"What are you two doing here?"

"We got tired of waiting in the car.."

"Well why you're here why don't you bloody apologise, I'll wait for you" And with that he left. "What apologise to a gravestone? I'm not apologising to a sodding gravestone" Sally elbowed him in the side. "All the evidence so far is pointing us in the opposite direction ok? ...He was probably innocent." She felt so much guilt and regret for doubting him. For starting this whole thing. If by any chance he had been innocent, she had played a hand in driving him to his death. Something she never thought possible of the man. And yet here they were in front of his grave.

"For what it's worth...I'm sorry. I'm sorry..Sherlock" We were never friends but..I'd like to think we weren't enemies. "I'll miss our insulting games... you weren't a freak. I never should have called you that. I just.. I hated you. You were so smart and arrogant and cold. But the more I saw you with John, the more you seemed to thaw."...Please forgive me. She nudged Anderson.

"Look, you were a bastard and an arrogant prick. But you were our bastard. And now we have all these unsolvable cases. It's your fault isn't ? You're pushing them all our way and laughing at us. ..Bloody idiot" Sally allowed herself one tear for the fallen detective and the two walked out arm in arm.


	10. 10

John continued to walk alongside the elderly caretaker as he continued his monologue. So many people had visited Sherlock since he..left. "Yeah, right popular, regular celebrity. I read all that stuff in the papers. Utter rubbish if you ask me. Never believe what I see in the papers anymore anyway." John gave a half smile. "Yeah.. thanks. It's nice to know there are more people who don't believe the lies."

The caretaker placed his hand on John's shoulder. "Son, I've seen you here a few times. You seem like a nice young man, I don't like to see people so young, so broken. Thats why I felt I had to talk to you. You were very close weren't you? Lovers? Family?" John blinked back tears. "Friends but.. I knew him more than his own family apparently. Vice versa I guess. Thanks.. um.. I better go say hello." The man smiled and patted his shoulder.

"Say hello for me will you?"

"Yeah I'll do that."

* * *

"Been really busy Sherlock. Tided up some of your stuff. John hasn't been around much though. We meet downstairs in the cafe, he doesn't like to visit me in the flat. He refuses to go inside. I don't blame him. I'm still angry at you, young man. You had no right to do this. I don't care what your reasons were. I..oh Sherlock.." She felt tears sting her eyes, pulling out a pink handkerchief she dabbed at the wetness gently. "You silly, stupid boy!"

"I loved you like a son, Sherlock. Thats why I treated you like one. And then in came John and suddenly I had two lovely boys sharing my building. Inseparable the two of you were. I couldn't imagine one without the other. But now I have no choice. Poor John, he's so lonely. It makes me so sad. So angry at you. But can you blame me? You used to pretend you didn't care but anyone with half a brain could see you did. You just liked to pretend. But I knew you cared, not just about John and me. You cared about Lestrade and that nice Molly. She's lovely. The dear is always coming over to see how I am."

"I forget she's known you longer than the rest of us. Mycroft's only visited the place a few times. I think it's too hard for him to see your flat without you in it. He's changed, your brother. I think this has made him a little more gentle in a lot of respects. I've taken to mothering him whenever I do see him. He's a very private man, isn't he? But I see you in him, I can't help but like him." She dabbed her eyes again before laying a bouquet of black roses in front of the stone. "I better pop off and head back home. Visiting a few friends tonight. I have to re-do my make up now, fix up my hair. Why am I telling you dear?.. I'll come see you again soon"

* * *

"I don't know why I'm talking to you. You're just behind that tree listening to my Ipod. Replacing all my songs with orchestral music. But...I guess I've got to keep up appearances. What to say? It's interesting having you visit so often Sherlock. I feel like we're really becoming friends. And I feel..I don't know, privileged that I get to see that side of you, John always talked about. I don't like the fact that I now have a chemical burn under a rug in the living room now, or the mess you made of the study that doubles as your bedroom. I tried to get in there the other day to get my hairdryer, which you had dismantled, only to trip over a pile of folders!"

"However, I'm really pleased you aren't actually dead. That would.. really break my heart. I'd like to see you smile more though. Not just when you see me looking at you. Like when we dyed your hair for the second time. Blonde doesn't suit you though. I liked you as a ginger, go back to that. I understand that you need to disguise your self whenever you come back to London. Oh by the way, thank you for that little Eiffel Tower figurine you brought me last week. Don't know where you found the time to buy it while on the run. Knowing you, you probably stole it...anyway!...I think I'm off topic."

"Please smile more, I hate it when you're sad. You're doing it again. Looking sad when you think I'm not looking. Are you thinking about John and everyone else? About future missions? Your life is so dangerous Sherlock, I get so worried whenever you go away. I love you...I still kind of have a crush on you but I know that will never go anywhere but I care about you. Thats love isn't it? You're like a brother to me, I guess. I don't know. I guess I'm saying all this to your gravestone because I don't have the courage to say it to your face.."

She looked over at the slim figure resting his back against the tree behind the grave. Back to his normal hair colour. He'd been here recently too, just before his trip to Paris. He'd stopped by to see John one last time. Now he was back in a hoodie and jeans. Designer clothes seem to attract too much attention. Made him look to much like himself. Molly looked behind her to see a few people wander into the cemetery. Back to acting. She didn't mind that, only when she was around their friends did she mind. It felt like betrayal. But when she was alone with Sherlock it was like a little adventure. She loved adventure stories and right now her life felt like one.

"Ready 'lock?"

"Yup, come on Molls'"

He jumped up, resumed slouching and the two of them pretended all the way towards the entrance of the graveyard.

"You can't giggle at a cemetery 'Molls'"

Which made her giggle more, his voice, so different than his usual. Sherlock waited until they were walking down the sidewalk before asking her what was so funny. She reached forward and lifted a little lizard off the top of his hoodie. His face erupted into a smile and the two of them laughed themselves down the street.


	11. 11

"Hello Sherlock, been awhile since I've seen you. Well... Ok I haven't seen you since you helped me with the Hounds of Baskerville. Been wondering what I would say to you, all the way up here. I suppose I should really say thank you. You saved my life, in more ways than one, you changed my life. Things are going great now, really great. Got myself a girlfriend, having far less nightmares, my life has gotten quieter, but happier." Henry took out his phone, skimming through the pictures of him and his girlfriend.

"I couldn't believe it when I heard you'd died. You just seemed so, happy I guess. You weren't like me and I nearly did end it all. But then I suppose, with the media hounding you, no joke there honestly, the stress from this Moriarty person, people calling you a murderer, a fraud. Everyone has their breaking point. This was yours. But it doesn't seem fair. But then life I suppose, isn't really. I just want to say thank you, Sherlock Holmes and that I believe in you"

* * *

"Do you think he's really dead?"

"You were there, I wasn't boss."

"Yeah but I was sort of...dead at the time, remember?"

"How could I forget. Look, I saw the body through my scope, you have the pictures in a scrap book. Dr. Watson is mourning. I'd say, yes he is dead"

A darkly, clothed figure crouched down in front of the grave stone, adding more flowers to the ever growing pile. "I'm disappointed Sherlock. I thought you and I were a pair. You should have run, left them to their fate. They weren't worth your time" He stood back up, kicking over a vase and watching the contents bleed out.

"Now you really are on the side of the angels. How ordinary"

* * *

John had finally made the long walk to the grave of his best friend. His eyes widened as they spotted the forest of flowers, newspaper clippings proclaiming his innocence, photos and badges. It was like a shrine. John smiled sadly and knelt down in front of the headstone.

"Hello Sherlock" He no longer faulted on that word. "I know I only saw you recently, but I thought I'd come by and say hi just the same. You would probably think it stupid of me. Talking to someone who isn't there. But I like to think you are here, in a way. I don't really believe in ghosts to be honest, but your memory refuses to stop haunting me anyway." He wiped away a stray tear.

"Cleaned out the flat today. Not everything, but a lot of things. Mrs Hudson isn't planning to open it up for tenants any time soon but I can't stand to live there anymore. It's not right without you there. Packing away your things was so bloody stressful. You have a lot of junk, did you know that? Cluedo boards gone, good riddance! So's the harpoon and a lot of other ridiculous items. Keeping the skull there though, your friend and of course the violin. Don't know what to do with it. Think I'll keep it if thats alright. Your coat is still there, on it's hook. I hope it's ok if I use your old scarf sometimes, I can't be bothered to buy my own and I don't know, I feel like a part of you is with me when I wear it. Silly, isn't it?"

He sniffled and cleared his throat. "I still don't get it Sherlock. Things were really bad, and going to get worse, I get that. But...I don't get why you killed yourself. It doesn't fit you. You were too... I'd say full of yourself but that wouldn't be right. It just wasn't you. But then, I wasn't the one they were calling a fraud and you were so proud of that brain of yours. Our friends were even thinking, maybe, just maybe, you were a criminal, my brother wasn't the one who gave away vital information to the enemy and it wasn't me that had a criminal mastermind ruining my life. I suppose those are all valid reasons in your mind, to jump. Not in mine. Never in mine. You should have told me."

"It hurts me Sherlock, I know you arranged to get me out of the building. It really hurts me to hear you call yourself a fake, to try and trick me into believing you were a lie. But I lived with you, I know you weren't. It really hurt to hear you break other the phone. To hear you so sad..so without hope, I broke with you. My heart stopped. Seeing you fall...seeing all that blood. I felt dead Sherlock. Now I just feel empty, numb. I only knew you for maybe..eighteen months or so. But somehow we learned everything about each other, became so close..that now the world seems fake without you. Unreal, like it's all a dream. I wish it was a dream. But it's not."

"You know, I've seen comrades, die in war, violently. Friends I worked with everyday. And it hurt. But nothing compared to this. People have suggested, that we were special. You know the saying, two halves of one coin? You hear of people who have this incredible bond, closer than siblings or spouses. Inseparable, like twins. Was that us Sherlock? Or were we leading up to that?...Never know now. Never know anything now."

He stood, leaning heavily on one leg. "You know what hurts the most? Besides the fact you never confided in me that you felt like this. It's the fact I see you everywhere. Every bloody thing reminds me of you. I can't even go into the flat. I see you in every inch of it's walls. Every discarded paper, every sodding chemical beaker, every bloody dressing gown. Sherlock you had more than four dressing gowns. Who needs four dressing gowns? And your bloody armchair. I still see you in that too." You never could seem to sit properly Sherlock. You were either perched on it like a cat, slouching, sitting on it but constantly twitching with anticipation, boredom, withdrawal. And one time after you'd sustain a blow to the head I found you upside down on it. I forget your reasoning at the time, you weren't exactly making sense.

"I'll probably come and see you again soon. I'm looking for a new job. Something quiet for awhile maybe. Away from this part of London. I want to move on Sherlock but I feel if I let go, I'll be the one to fall. That I'll loose you all over again. I don't want to forget you Sherlock. In such a short amount of time you made an irreversible impact on my life. It's imprinted really, right here." He tapped his chest just as his phone began to beep wildly. "Have to go now mate, job interview. Hope they don't think less of a man who's been crying. Still staying angry for you for awhile, arrogant sod. It'll pass, I never could stay angry at you for long. See you, Sherlock."

John picked up his cane from it's place on the grass and limped off.

* * *

A solitary figure watched from the shadows, not even noticing he'd shed an unwanted tear. Forget me, John Watson. Please. I'm not worth your tears. Just forget me and move on. Forget you ever met me. It will make things easier.

I feel numb too.


	12. 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By far my worst chapter, just warning you. Terrible. Im better at angst and John and Sherlock banter clearly. At least I hope I am. Next chapter will have both I think..to make up for this travesty.

Living with Sherlock was an interesting experience. Certainly not boring. She never knew when she'd come home to find him there, either asleep, performing some sort of experiment or jumping out of nowhere with a gun, in fear of his life. But again, it was not a boring life and she wouldn't change any of it. It was a constant adventure. Even if he did explode her microwave. Or dismantle her hair dryer. Or wake her up at all ours of the morning by yelling down the phone at Mycroft.

Molly didn't know when he would turn up, he just did. Like today for instance. She'd just come home from work to find the lights on and the detective sprawled across her too small couch. Shoes still on, one hand under his shirt, revealing his pale, smooth stomach. He was fast asleep and absolutely adorable. She placed her bag on the floor, taking a blanket from Sherlocks room and laying it across the detective. He looked so peaceful when he was sleeping, nothing like when he was awake and the weight of the world rested firmly on his shoulders.

"Sweet dreams, Sherlock"

He did have his own room. Well, it used to be her study. Now the desk was in a corner, her bookcase filled with his books. No bed though, he though that might be suspicious, her buying a new bed. He was fine with just a mattress on the floor. It had all the trimmings of a bed, though. But the room.. messy was an understatement. It was utter chaos. But in a lot of ways, that was Sherlock all over. At least it had been lately. She smiled and went back to her room.

* * *

Sherlock woke with a start, sitting up immediately, knocking an angry Toby to the floor. The creature was quite taken to him, much to the detectives distain. He wrapped the blanket around him protectively and wandered into the kitchen. It was cold, he needed a warm drink. Did Molly still have tea? She must have tea. He scoured the cupboard but could only find hot chocolate and coffee. Well..hot chocolate it was.

"Sherlock?" Molly peeped around the corner , still in her nightie, Sherlock still in the clothes he'd been wearing the day before. "'s bit early don't you think?" Sherlock gave her a quizical look. "Its 3am Sherlock, your inner clock is mixed up again." Sherlock raised his eyebrows, sipping his newly made, warm drink. "Sorry Molly...I'll be quiet, I promise" She smiled at him, the look in her eyes clearly doubtful. "Just don't blow up anything"

"When did I last blow up anything?"

"Two weeks ago, you blew up the microwave"

"It was for a case!"

"Thats your excuse for everything. You were bored. Its ok, I understand. Makes you feel at home, blowing things up and experiments. Doesn't it?" She picked up Toby, who was quite put out that the detective was ignoring him. "I'm glad you're back though Sherlock. See you later" She went back to bed. Sherlock took his drink and sat back on the couch.

When she woke up a few hours later the house was empty. She never knew when he would turn up, and she never knew when he'd leave either. She constantly worried about him and hoped he would come back soon and in one piece.

* * *

Sherlock crawled across the floor of the attic, as quiet and as graceful as a cat. He brushed a stray strand of blond hair from his eyes and laid his head against the floor, listening to the footsteps below. He then crept quickly to the small scuttle hole in the middle of the floor. He made sure the rope securing his legs was tight enough, he had no desire to fall out before he'd caught his prey. That would be rather embarrassing.

The detective deftly removed the small square of ceiling and looked down below. Excellent, mouse in place. He poked his head out of the hole, continuing until his entire torso was hanging out, upside down, blond hair waving about. He lifted his arms, each hand clasping a gun.

"Freeze!" Thats what people say...right? John would know. The bearded man turned around in surprise, raising a finger to point at him. "You're...you're..". Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes I'm the late Sherlock Holmes. Now will you come quietly or do I have to shoot you? And please don't be boring." The man's eyes widened, patting his body to find his guns gone.

"Looking for these?" Sherlock waved the guns in his hands about. "Shit" His prey ran. What did I just say? Boring. Why did they always have to be so predictable? This was clearly one of Moriarty's less intelligent disciples. He had hoped he would come quietly though. Sherlock tapped the little earpiece against his cheek. "He's on his way out. Don;t miss this one like the last please?" The rope suddenly snapped, he'd moved his foot too much. He fell, quickly and unceremoniously to the floor. Ok, now that was embarrassing.

"You alright Sherlock? Have another little fall did we?" Laughter echoed down the line. Mycroft's men sometimes accompanied him on his missions, much to his annoyance.

"Oh, do shut up" The detective picked himself up and ran after the suspect.

* * *

Molly yawned as she sleepily headed towards the front door. "Ok.. ok I'm coming" She wiped the sleep out of her eyes and opened the door ever so slightly. It was still night, 2am to be precise. "Hello?" "Molly..?" A croaky, confused voice answered her back. "Is someone there?" "Down here" Molly looked to the ground to see Sherlock resting against the outside wall, blood dripping from the side of his head. "Sherlock!" She grabbed him by the shoulder and hurriedly pulled him inside. "Sit here.. oh.. are you ok? What happened? Did someone hit you? Did you fall over? Are you ok?"

"Molly"

"Oh look at you! You're bleeding. Do you need painkillers? I'll get you a glass of water..and the first aid kit. What happened?"

"Molly"

"What is it Sherlock? What do you need?"

"I need you to shut up."

"Oh."

His eyes darted around the room. "Where am I?" Molly looked confused for a moment, still looking for the first aid kit. They had moved it into the kitchen some time ago, after Sherlock had burned his hand. Toby had knocked over his boiling cup of tea. And then a few days later he'd dropped the toaster on his foot. He never used to be so clumsy. But nowadays his mind always seemed to be on anything but what he was actually doing. "You're in my flat, Sherlock" She began to mop up the blood gently, from his brow. The sudden image of him back in the morgue appeared in her mind, she dropped the towel in shock.

"Molly?"

"Sorry, Im sorry" He must have concussion, she told herself, trying to distance her mind from that terrible memory. Even though she'd known he was alive, it didn't make seeing him like that any easier. It had been terrifying to walk into that room, to see him unconscious, covered in blood. Just like now. Except for the unconscious part. "Molly.. you're doing that Scrubs thing again. Are you ok Molly?" Oh, he always made her feel better. He'd been forced to watch the show the last time he was here. He clearly had yet to delete it from his mind.

"Molly.. I.. what was I saying?...Where am I Molly?"

"Sorry Sherlock, here. You're in my flat... I just told you.."

She placed a small patch of plaster onto his brow and finished cleaning him up. He stood, his legs shaky and ended falling flat on his face. "Sherlock!" "Molly..my legs aren't working properly.." She sighed and smiled, wrapping an arm around his waist. "Sherlock.. you need to eat more." He snorted. "Yes, Mycroft" Molly giggled, not sure if it was an actual joke or his mind messing with his head. You stay here, Toby will look after you. I'll be right back with some painkillers"

She left the room, Toby hopped onto the couch, staring straight into Sherlock's eyes. "What are you looking at?..No.. no I don't want you on my lap go away..no..no purring. Please..oh fine. Whatever." Toby curled up on the detectives lap, purring loudly.

"I hate you"


	13. 13

" _Happy Birthday"_

" _...What?"_

" _Well it's your birthday isn't it?...It is your birthday?"_

" _Yes but...you.. you actually remembered?"_

" _...Well.. Mrs Hudson might have mentioned it once"_

" _Of course"_

" _Or twice.."_

" _Most likely"_

" _Maybe five times."_

_John grinned and took the package._

" _But you don't do this sort of thing, go out and buy someone a present, do you?"_

" _Call it an experiment"_

" _Liar"_

" _..I thought that would work...well that's what people do don't they? Buy gifts for other people on their birthday?"_

" _Don't play dumb Sherlock"_

_Sherlock pursed his lips together and then broke out into a smile. "Aren't you supposed to open it? I didn't stand in a ridiculously long line at the check out behind an obscenely loud woman, who insisted in blabbing about some stupid tv show at the top of her lungs, for you to just hold it and not open it"_

" _Alright Sherlock, alright"_

_It was a box set of Doctor Who dvds. "Hey, this isn't bad , Sherlock". His friend looked momentarily confused. "It wasn't supposed to be bad! I had to come up with a formula to figure out what to get you, you aren't exactly the easiest person to buy a present for"_

" _Neither are you"_

" _Yes well I don't get presents anyway"_

" _Thats.. sort of sad"_

_He waved a dismissive hand. "Last birthday present I got was off Mycroft when I was sixteen. It was a book on, bees or bugs or something not important. I don't care about such things anyway"_

" _Yet you care enough to go out and buy me something"_

" _Well yes, but you're the exception. "_

" _Why?"_

" _Cause they dont...um..is that the time? I have to go...meet a corpse...at Barts.."_

" _Sherlock.."_

" _Because you matter more...ok? Now can I go back to my experiment?"_

" _You don't want to watch this with me?"_

"  _I won't like it"_

" _You never know, Sherlock, you liked James Bond"_

" _...Come on Sherlock it's my birthday"_

" _Ok.. but only because of that."_

* * *

" _Why is he wearing a fez"_

* * *

When John woke up, a smile was still on his lips. He broke out in a chuckle until he realised where he was. No longer at 221b. Damn it Sherlock. I keep forgetting you're... dead. This isn't right. You bastard. Sod, git, sodding bloody bastard. He had remembered that particular day so clearly. It was hard for Sherlock to admit when he cared. Not because he didn't care. It was hard for John to admit he cared. Some people were just like that. That Sherlock had gone out of his way to buy John a gift made it such a treasured memory. Now it just made him sad.

Another month had passed. He was afraid of moving on. Moving on meant forgetting Sherlock. Moving on meant going back to the way he was before meeting Sherlock. Except now there was a gaping hole in his life that wasn't there before. He kept going over the day, again and again in his head. What had he missed? He had to have missed something. Yes Sherlock was stressed, agitated, wondering if Moriarty was even real, hounded by the media, doubted by his friends...but it still seemed so out of character for him to just want to end it all.

And yet he had. John had seen it with his own eyes. The image of his best friend, in the whole bloody world, lying broken on the pavement was something that would haunt him forever. He remembered making his way over to get to him. John had grabbed his hand, felt for a pulse, only to be ripped away. He wanted to comfort Sherlock, but he was already dead. He'd already left John. And then they turned him over and oh God. His head was literally matted with blood, blood covered his face and his eyes. Thats what he really wanted to forget. How empty his eyes were.

His therapist had suggested he write to Sherlock, if he felt he couldn't go to his grave. In the end John had done both. He despised writing though, writing had led to Sherlocks death. Oh, he could blame Jim, Lestrade, Sally and Anderson, Mycroft, the media, everyone but in the end, it wasn't them that had killed Sherlock. It was him. And his bloody blog. If he had met Sherlock, the same way as before and just never written about it, Sherlock would never have become so famous. Sherlock would still be alive.

His blog had killed his best friend. He had killed his best friend. And now he simply despised writing and himself. He wrote letters anyway, it was better than talking to the air or a skull. Sometimes he would go down to Sherlock's grave and read them out to him. Tell him about his day, how everyone else was doing, how life wasn't the same without him. How he hated him, how he missed him. How he wished he had a time machine so he could go back and save him before he jumped. How he wished he had told John how he felt. How he would always believe in him.

Sometimes he didn't say anything at all, he would just sit behind his gravestone, leaning against it, the closest he could get to Sherlock now and just do nothing. Or read. Sometimes Lestrade would give him cases, asking for a fresh eye, in reality hoping to jolt a spark of life into Johns eyes and also, hoping that some of Sherlock's brilliance had rubbed off on John. Sometimes John would bring those cases to Sherlock and read them out to him. Sometimes he could even imagine Sherlock's response. But he never really could help Lestrade that much. But he appreciated the gesture.

* * *

He felt bad for not visiting the others as much as he should. Lestrade came over often, just to talk and drink. Lestrade was a much closer friend now, then he was before. It pained John in a way that most of his friends now he only had because of Sherlock. Sometimes he and Greg would sit and talk about the detective. It was bloody hard but it helped.

Lestrade had so many wonderful stories and so did John. But he never really laughed. Chuckle maybe, smiled but only sometimes. It felt wrong for him to be happy. He knew he shouldn't feel that way. But Lestrade would simply pat his shoulder and tell him to give it time.

Lestrade was a lot quieter now, John had noticed. John could tell how much he missed Sherlock, just by the way he spoke about him. He had more grey hairs, though he claimed Sherlock had given him most of them. He often had bags under his eyes. Stress from his job, stress from his superiors. It had only been Mycrofts intervention that had helped him from loosing his job.

People were slowly forgetting his association with the consulting detective. People were forgetting Sherlock. That wasnt right. That wasn't allowed. How could people forget Sherlock Holmes? He was one of those people you could meet once and never ever forget. He would make that much of an impression. He wasn't like anyone else. So how was it possible to forget him?


	14. 14

John's new flat was in a beautiful building in a beautiful neighbourhood. He supposed it was Mycrofts way of trying to apologise to John. But it wasn't John who deserved an apology, it was never John. Perhaps he was trying to look after him for Sherlock's sake. John was grateful either way. He would not have been able to afford it without him.

John had finally gotten a new job, almost five months since the death of his best and closest friend in the world. In fact he was even planning to start his own practice. Baby steps though. Moving on from all that had happened was hard, but he was getting there. He could now say Sherlock's name without faltering on the first syllable. His nightmares were still there, they may never go away. But he had so many happy memories of Sherlock to make up for the bad.

Any time he found himself feeling sad, he just imagined the first adventure they ever embarked upon and their run around London. The laughter they shared upon returning to Baker Street. In fact any memory of Sherlock smiling or laughing was one that cheered him up. It also reminded him of how much he'd lost and how little others knew him. Some people saw him as a cold machine, incapable of emotion. Others saw that spark that John did. But he was one of the privileged few that saw the smiles, shared the laughter, could talk to him without ever saying a word.

So even though all those happy memories cheered him up, they would always contain that hint of sadness. They would always remind him of the brilliant soul the world had lost and will never see the likes again. But at least now he could stand to think of him without his heart aching too much or waking only to remember his friend wasn't in the next room, without crying into his pillow at night. He would never forget Sherlock but he felt like he was finally beginning to move on from his death.

* * *

John was so absorbed by his thoughts he didn't even notice the other person in the hallway until it was too late and her groceries were scattered along the floor, a carton of milk spilling his contents between the both of them. "Oh shit, I'm so sorry! Here let me help you" John immediately lifted himself from the ground and started to clean up the groceries.

"Oh no! It's ok really, I can manage"

"No, this was my fault, sorry, mind was elsewhere"

He used one of his hankies to begin to mop up the milk. "Look.. I'll buy you a new carton of...milk.." Those words, once so familiar, might have sparked a memory in him, had he not been absorbed by the woman in front of him. She was without a doubt the most beautiful person he'd ever seen. Her hair, honey blonde, her eyes as blue as the sky. As corny as it sounded, it was indeed love at first sight.

"Sorry.. sorry, should be paying attention" He gave a nervous chuckle, handing her some of the groceries and helping her lug them into her apartment. She smiled shyly. "It's ok. Besides, this has given me a chance to meet a new neighbour." John grinned, placing the groceries on her counter. "Oh you just moved in?" She nodded. "Yeah, just moved in. Sorry, I should have introduced myself. I'm Mary. Mary Morstan" She held out a hand, John took it eagerly. "John, John Watson. I live across the hall"

"It's nice to meet you John"

"Likewise...oh..I should probably leave you, don't want your husband getting ideas" This will tell me if she's available, least thats what he hoped. "Oh.. I'm not married, Im single" She flashed her hand and John felt his spirit soar. He hadn't felt like this with a woman for a long time. Normally he went on dates for a chance at a relationship but he had never felt about them they way he did her and he couldn't even explain it.

"Listen... do you want to go get a coffee sometime? Sorry.. that was way to blunt of me. Should really keep my mouth shut"

"No..I'd like that"

"Really?"

She giggled, he was adorable when he was flustered. "Really"

"Tomorrow, 12 o'clock?"

"Tomorrow, John."

He said his goodbye and closed her door, virtually skipping to his own. This was something different, this was something special. Back again was the spark and adventure in his heart.

* * *

"So what sort of things are you interested in?..Sorry I'm really bad at this"

"That makes two of us then. Well, I love stories. Adventure, mysteries and detective stories."

John raised his eyebrows at the last one. "Detective stories?"

"Yeah, though I doubt there could ever be as easy to solve as those. Looking at someone and knowing everything, bit fairytale. Still, they always sound exciting and are wonderfully written"

"Well, some people can solve mysteries just that quick you know."

"Oh, an expert on detectives are we?" She teased, not noticing the split second of sadness in his eyes."

"Yeah I know a guy"

"Do tell."

"First time we met, he took one look at me and knew my whole life story"

"John, don't tease" Mary laughed, the light catching her hair and transfixing him.

"I'm not, I'm one hundred percent serious" Her eyes widened, delight and surprise spreading across her features. "You aren't lying?..Please tell me more, John."

So he told her. About this amazing man he had as a friend and the things he could do, the adventures they went on. And she loved them, here was someone who was like him. Who thrived on adventure and the trill of danger. The only thing he didn't tell her was that his friend was dead. Because while he was with her, telling her these stories, he could pretend, just for awhile, that Sherlock wasn't really dead.

* * *

Mary was wonderful. She was a school teacher, she adored detective and mystery stories. Adventure stories, fantasy stories. She was very smart, in John's opinion and extremely beautiful. She was never afraid to speak her mind and although she had been initially shy, now he saw her true self. Cheeky, stubborn, full of adventure and love. And best of all, she adored John.

They'd been only dating for about two weeks but it felt like two years. John could see himself spending the rest of his life with her. The two of them had so much in common and he couldn't help wondering if a certain detective had a hand in sending her here. Sherlock. He knew one day he would have to tell her the truth but he didn't have the heart just yet. One day, he'd take her to meet him.

He was certain he would have liked her.


	15. 15

"Do you still visit his grave?"

"When I can find the time, I don't know, it sort of helps to talk out my problems with him. That's ok, right?" Skull just attracts attention. Easier talking to his grave instead of a skull, through.

"It's great John. You've been doing really well."

"No I haven't, not really." She gave him a sympathetic smile. Which he hated. Always thinking she knew best. Maybe she did, about other people. He knew she didn't totally believe him, about Sherlock, but screw her, he did and she damn well would never convince him otherwise.

* * *

"Have you gone back to your blog?"

"What? God no, thats what was the cause of this whole thing."

"It would help, John, to write down what happens to you. How you feel. You said you still had a lot of old cases you hadn't yet written up. You should. You don't have to write up what happened just yet. But you told me that telling Mary some of your "adventures" helped you deal with some of the pain. Made him come back to life in your mind."

"No, no I can't.. I just..if I never wrote that bloody thing, none of this would have happened."

"You don't know that John." Neither do you.

"I guess we'll never know, will we?"

* * *

"Have you told her yet?"

"About Sherlock?.. No..I don't want to, she think's he sounds wonderful and impossible and can't wait to meet him, I don't have the heart to tell her, that he's dead. Besides, when I'm with her I can at least pretend." A small sad smile appeared on the corner of his lips.

"You'll have to tell her one day."

"Yeah, I know."

* * *

John knelt in front of the grave, closing the manilla folder shut and placing it beside him. "It helps, reading these out to you. God knows Im thankful Lestrade still sends them and I have been some help to him. Medical wise however, with the um..the bodies. He's pleased with my work." John grinned and sighed.

"He's a rock. He's..a really good friend, Sherlock. We still go out for drinks every week, hang out every so often. His wife left him for that P.E teacher. Poor guy. We got blind stinking drunk and threw eggs and loo paper at the guys car and house. It was bloody crazy and hilarious and we both needed that outlet."

"I met this girl, Sherlock, in my new flat. I think you'd like her. She's very smart and adores mysteries, adventures stories and detective novels. She has this sense of adventure that, I don't know. I just really like her. I think she might be the one. I've been thinking of bringing her to meet you at some point, told her all about you, cept that the fact you're.. no longer with us. It's gonna break her heart but it's only fair I tell her the truth."

"Heard Molly got a new boyfriend. Some red-headed bloke. Good on her, she needs someone in her life. Anyone, frankly, is better than Jim. She comes over, every so often. We sit and have coffee. I know, pretty boring. She misses you. She gets this sad, faraway look in her eye when she talks about you. I know that look."

"It wasn't really fair on her, Sherlock, choosing St Bart's of all places Course, it wasn't bloody fair at all. Did you even think about her? Did you? Probably not, you always forgot about her. Heh, look at me, still insulting you. 'Cept you aren't returning the compliment." He stood, with the aid from his cane.

"I better get back, I don't work very often right now, but they understand. Still, need to get back into practice, literally. I promise I bring Mary, thats her name, over to meet you soon. Thanks for the help" He waved the folder and limped off.

He didn't even notice the hooded figure who had been listening from behind the tree. So he didn't see him slide to the ground, bring up his knees and clasp his hands together in front of his face. And he didn't see the stray tear either.


	16. 16

" _John?"_

" _What?"_

" _Bored."_

" _Oh, brilliant. Well, don't look at me, nothing I can do about it"_

" _Bored."_

" _Yes you said..do you think you could slouch anymore in that chair?"_

_His slouching increased. "Yes"_

_John laughed. "You're such a child"_

" _Am not"_

" _Are too."_

" _Not"_

" _Too"_

" _There must be something to do! Anything!"_

" _Well..we could play a board game?"_

" _Yes, no, I don't care!"_

" _Alright then" John stood and headed to his room and came back with Cluedo._

" _What's that?"_

" _Clue-do"_

" _Never heard of it"_

" _Course you haven't." John set up the board, loosely explaining the rules._

" _So you have to deduce who the killer is, what they killed the victim with and where?...Doesn't seem all that hard.."_

* * *

" _No, it has to be the candlestick! It's the only thing that makes sense!"_

* * *

" _What do you mean its not Colonel Mustard? Don't be protecting him just because he's an officer, John"_

* * *

" _No, no no! It was the library, it has to be! This game is ridiculous!"_

* * *

" _Sherlock it can't be the victim"_

" _It's the only thing left that makes sense"_

" _It's not in the rules"_

" _Then the rules are wrong!"_

* * *

" _Sherlock? Sherlock?"_

_Sherlock looked up from the board, his face and hair drenched in blood and the blood, dripping down his face._

" _No..no! Oh God, no..please. Sherlock? Sherlock..."_

" _You killed me John"_

" _No...you jumped... you...Sher- " He gasped, backing away from the approaching figure._

" _You failed me. You weren't there when I needed you, John"_

" _Sherlock.. please.. I wanted to be..please.."_

_The detective grabbed his shoulders, his hands as cold as ice, his face deathly white._

" _Sherlock!...Im sorry. Im so sorry... please...Sherlock.."_

" _You killed me. You're the reason I'm dead. I...hate...you"_

" _No.."_

" _SHERLOCK!"_

* * *

John sat up panting, quickly removing the covers and sitting over the side of the bed, running his hands through his hair and over his face. Several deep breaths were necessary to calm him down, but his heart took longer to slow back to its normal pace. Oh god, he hoped these nightmares would stop soon. Ella, his therapist said it would take time, and it would help if he stopped blaming himself. But that was unlikely to happen anytime soon. Or at all.

"John?"

Mary.. shit. "I'm fine.. just a nightmare" He tried to shrug it off but his hands were still shaking. He needed to get out, clear his head. He stood, limping towards his trousers and pulled them on, pulling his shirt over his head and his jacket around his shoulders. "Is everything ok?" He nodded, a wavering smile on his lips. "Yeah, just need to clear my head." She smiled, leaning over to pat his arm. "Was it the war again?" John nodded.

"Yeah... it was the war..."

* * *

He ventured outside into the cold, pulling his collar up in a way reminiscint of his best friend and pulled his arms close to his chest. It was dark but the fresh air seemed to help. As if it blew away all the bad memories that had surfaced from that nightmare. They'd be back later. They always were. But the night air did help.

When he returned home, and it felt strange to call this building home, he went to his own apartment instead of Mary's. He headed to the bookcase and pulled out a red, leather photo album. Mrs Hudson had made this for him. She had one planned for Sherlock too. Now it sat on his mantlepiece in Baker Street. John sat himself down in his arm chair. Not the same one as back in 221b and nowhere near as comfortable. He opened it up to the first page.

Here was John dozing in his chair.

Here was John poking Sherlock with his foot. He was slouching in his chair, with one foot extended and poking Sherlock, who was fast asleep. They'd had a client and John was too lazy to get up. Mrs Hudson always took strange pictures.

Here was Sherlock poking Anderson with his violin bow.

Another with Sherlock playing the violin. His eyes closed. Sherlock could wander around the whole flat playing his violin if the music was lively enough.

Another with the violin. He was standing on the desk, God knows why.

Here were the two of them together. John was making a funny face while Sherlock was looking at him perplexed.

Two seconds later was a proper photo, of them both genuinely smiling to please the photographer, Mrs Hudson.

John turned another page. Sherlock sat in his chair, his hands together in front of his face, deep in thought.

Here was Sherlock and Mycroft mid violin bow and umbrella dual. John had to be the medic after Sherlock had tumbled over a flask on the floor and ended up having glass embedded in his foot. It was a rare photo showing the playfulness that existed within the two brothers.

Another picture, John looking over Sherlock's shoulder as he wrote down different types of tobacco ash.

Here was John trying to get Sherlock to eat.

Here was Sherlock fast asleep on the couch, looking all of twelve years old.

Here was another, he was in his thinking position again, this time he was looking at the photographer, one eyebrow quirked up in confusion.

This was taken on a train, they had accompanied Mrs Hudson on a trip, because she have found a client for them. They had been siting next to each other and at some point, both had fall asleep. John's head lay on Sherlock's shoulder, while Sherlock's head lay against John's.

Here was the picture that always made him cry. One rare photograph of Sherlock laughing. Just genuinely laughing at something John had done. His hand was on John's Shoulder, his other against his stomach, John was laughing too.

A tear dropped onto the plastic sleeve containing the photo. John didn't bother wiping it away. This picture served as a reminder of what he'd lost. Of what other people never saw. John wished he could take this photo album and show the press, show anyone who ever doubted Sherlock, that this was Sherlock Holmes, not the lies they told, not the fraud they made up, not the body in that coffin. THIS, was Sherlock. But he couldn't who would listen anyway.

"John?"

He dropped the album. "M-mary?" He wiped his hand across his face trying to hide his tears. "Oh John, whats wrong?" He shook his head. "Nothing... just.. nothing" She picked up the fallen album and sat on the opposite chair. "No.. don't...give that back to me..please.." Mary smiled and patted his hand. "Let me see." She opened the album, smiling down at all the pictures.

"Is this him?" She asked, pointing to a picture of Sherlock, perched over his chemistry set in a green, leather apron, one flask of blue liquid held above his head. John moved his chair over to sit next to Mary. "Yeah.. that's him" She grined and squeezed John's cheek to make him smile. "Oooh, he's quite the cutie" John rolled his eyes. "Oh, John. I'm only teasing." John smiled back, still wiping his eyes. "I know"

"John..."

"Yeah?"

"You know you can tell me."

"Tell you what?"

"I know, John"

"I don't understand."

She held his hand tightly. "About Sherlock. I know he's gone" John almost let go. "H-how?" Mary turned the page with her free hand. "From the way you talk about him, the sad look you got in your eyes the first time I asked to meet him". John tried to smile, a nervous chuckle escaping his lips. "You deduced it" She laughed. "Yes, I deduced it. I didn't want to say anything, because I could see how happy it made you to talk about him in the first person." John shook his head. Mary was something else.

"Tell me about him, John"

* * *

So he did. He told her about the experiments, the body parts left in the fridge. How he always woke him up in the morning with his violin. How his violin playing could bring you to tears but just as easily make you break out in laughter. He told her about his boredom, his habit of shooting holes in the wall and spraying smiley faces. He told her about the cigarettes in the turkish slipper by the fireplace, the look he got when he'd solved the case. All the running about London, all the inside jokes and the laughter. All of his quirks.

He told her everything. Everything he'd already said and everything he'd left out. "He sounded wonderful. Completely, completely impossible. But completely brilliant. I can see why you miss him so." John nodded, his eyes begging to tear up again. He took a breath and finally asked her something he'd wanted to for awhile now.

"Do you want to meet him?"


	17. 17

"Whats this?"

"Your set of papers you asked for concerning the two of them"

"Oh, yes. Have they been up to anything interesting lately?"

"...You may want to read this one" The smartly dressed red-headed woman handed Irene one of the later newspapers.

"Why?" Irene took the paper with one perfectly manicured hand and unfolded it to see the worlds, in bold on the front page:  **SUICIDE OF FAKE GENIUS,** with Sherlock's picture right underneath. Irene leaned forward in her chair, uncrossing her legs. "Fake genius? They've obviously never met the man. Kate, find out everything you can thats been happening in Baker Street before and after this incident!" Kate nodded, rushing off as fast as her high heels could take her.

Irene leaned back again, crossed her legs once more and lifted her hand up to her mouth. It couldn't be real, the man was most likely in hiding, having faked his death for some case or other purpose. No, the man was not dead. But he would definitely need her help. After all, she had died twice already. She was practically an expert.

* * *

"It was Sherlock you dreamed about last night wasn't it?" She rubbed circles in his hand. "Yeah." She held it tightly. "Do you want to talk about it?" John shook his head. "Honestly, not much to tell. Started out ok, it was a dream of something that had actually happened. I get a lot of those...makes it hard when I wake up and realise he's gone." Mary leaned into his shoulder, trying to give him the comfort he clearly needed. "What was different this time?" John looked out the window of the cab.

"Blood"

"Oh John..." Was all she could say, the two sat holding each other in silence for the rest of the cab ride to the cemetery.

* * *

"Well...this is it" He knelt in front of the shining black gravestone. Mary knelt beside him, one hand over his own. John cleared his throat. "Well... I brought her. Sherlock.. this is Mary, Mary..S-sherlock" Mary place her hand on his shoulder while John cleared his throat again. "Told you I'd bring her to meet you. She's heard all about you. She's really quite something, I think you would like her Sherlock" Mary blushed and placed the small bouquet of flowers she'd brought in front of the headstone.

"Hello Sherlock. I've heard such wonderful things about you. John talks about you often. Its always Sherlock this and Sherlock that, makes a girl a bit jealous." She moved her hand back to John's and gave it a squeeze, John rolled his eyes, knowing she was only teasing. "Did the two of you really do all those amazing things? Your cases are all so incredible, they hardly seem possible and yet John says they are, and I believe every word." John's eyes were beginning to tear up.

"I'm sorry you can't be here in person, but, I like to think we would have gotten along." John nodded. "You would have, I'm sure." Mary smiled, her own eyes filling with tears at the emotions she could see and feel running through John. The poor man had lost his closest friend in the world and the pain was healing but it might never truly leave him. Such a bond, when severed before its time, the wounds to the soul can never fully heal. But perhaps Mary could help fill the hole in his heart somehow. He was the most wonderful man and she loved him with all her heart.

"I would probably have rambled along and seemed like an idiot if I did meet him" John laughed.

"It's ok Mary, practically everyone is"

* * *

"Is it my turn or yours to make tea tonight, John?"

"Mine, don't get your hopes up, I'm not much of a cook. It will probably be something like spaghetti."

"Thats ok, spaghetti sounds wonderful."

He chuckled. "It'll have to do...Sherlock and Mrs Hudson were always the cooks in our flat. Being able to mix all those chemicals in just the right order? Using that talent in cooking wasn't a difficult leap."

Mary smiled and opened his door for him. "I'm sure it will be delicious, Joh-...". Mary stopped mid sentence, confusion in her eyes? "Mary what is it?" He followed her inside to see a tall woman in a short, sleek black dress sitting in the middle of his room.

"Hello John, long time no see"

"Irene?"


	18. 18

"No..hang on... you're dead."

"I got better"

Irene stood, her hips swaying as she made her way over to the door and closed it. She walked over towards John, who's hands were slowly clenching and unclenching as he struggled to keep his emotions in check. Irene smiled cupping his face in her hands. "Look at you, still as adorable as ever"

"Don't touch me"

"John?...Who is this?"

"Yes, John, who is this?" Irene let go of John's face, turning to stroke the cheek of Mary. "Ooh, she's quite the looker isn't she John? You naughty boy." Mary grabbed Irene's hand and pulled it away from her face. "She's...um..She's Irene Adler." Mary looked up at John in surprise. "I thought you said she was dead." John shrugged and then sighed and went to sit on his sofa. "I thought she was." Irene gave Mary a devious smile before moving to go sit next to John, using one foot to stroke his leg provocatively.

"A certain detective saved my life"

"Of course he did"

"He's why I'm here"

Mary sat on the other side of John, her eyes never leaving Irene. "Yeah? Sorry to break it to you, but he's... not here" Irene smiled knowingly. "Oh, I know that John, can't get through to his phone, so I thought I'd come to see you. Where is he? Where's he hiding? He made need my help"

"I take it you haven't read the papers lately or watched the telly. Sherlock...he's dead, Irene"

"Yes, I know you have to say that, but we both know thats not quite true"

"No... he is dead. It's not a trick Irene. I saw him die before my own eyes!"

Irene's face fell and John felt Mary's arm link around his own. "You must be mistaken. He probably just faked his death, John." John felt rage begin to bubble inside of him. "Shut up. Just shut up!" He stood pointing an threatening finger at her. "What do you know? Huh? I saw it happen. I saw him jump. He fucking killed himself, Irene. I watched him fall, I saw the blood, I held his fucking hand but he was already dead."

"So don't you dare get off claiming that I'm stupid or mistaken when I was bloody there and saw the whole thing happen. And I still have nightmares about it." Mary drew a hand up to her mouth, feeling tears well up in her eyes. She had thought that Sherlock had been killed by one of his enemies, the knowledge that he killed himself and that John saw it happen, broke her heart.

"Oh John.." She stood and wrapped her arms around his neck and held him. He was literally shaking with rage and grief now. Irene uncrossed her legs, leaning forward and resting her elbows on knees. She looked shocked. "You can't be serious...thats.. so unlike him.." John shook his head. "You have no idea what he was going through before he died Irene. I frankly I don't care to tell you. He's fucking dead, ok?. Now can you find your own way out or do I have to throw you out?"

* * *

Sherlock surveyed his enemy from around the corner, using a mirror. First, wait till he's passed, then trip. Suspect will swing a wide punch. Duck, right hook, dodge left jab. Left uppercut to jaw, left sidekick to chest. Suspect down for the count. Sherlock grinned and waited for the man to pass him by.

* * *

Irene stayed where she was. "No..he can't be..." Her slim hand wiped away the wetness on her cheeks. John paused in his rant, she looked so vulnerable. "I know, but he is. I can tell you where his grave is...if you I don't know, want to say goodbye or just talk. I don't know what you do." Irene raised her head. "He's really gone?...I'm sorry.. I have to go.." She grabbed her coat, wrapping it elegantly around her shoulders and wiping her eyes again. John handed her a note with the address of the cemetery written on it.

"Sorry to have bothered you, John..nice to meet you" She directed her last comment at Mary before opening the door and leaving in a hurry. She didn't want to him to see her cry. John and Mary stared after her and wondered what the hell, had just happened.

"Well..that was..interesting"

"What? Oh.. yes. God I am such an idiot, of course she was alive. Sherlock knew the whole time and he never said anything...doesn't matter now anyway.." He turned too look at her and held her hand. "Now, Miss Mary Morstan, where were we?"

"Let's have dinner"

* * *

_She's alive - JW_

_...Thank you John, I shall deal with her -MH_

* * *

Irene crouched in front of the marble headstone, Kate standing behind her protectively. The wind whipped through her hair but she payed it no attention as she lay a set of red roses in front of the grave. "I can't believe it Sherlock..and I refuse to believe it. In all honesty, you can't possibly be dead. But John says you are, says he saw it happen..so I'm at a loss. Do I grieve you, your remarkable intellect, you're stunning good looks? Or do I spend my time searching for you to help you? Tell me Sherlock because...I have no idea."

"If you really are dead, then..I refuse to believe you killed yourself. You had to have been provoked surely. Granted I don't know all the particulars of what led you to that roof. But it seems completely unlike you. But John.. he says he saw you die, the man's a solider, he would know death when he saw it. His eyes, there were of a man grieving a great loss. If you were faking &.I would expect you would tell him. You are ...were that close to him."

She finally stood upright, surveying the grave with expert eyes. "In any case, I think for now, I'll think of you as alive. I don;t know why John doesn't know, I expect he will be rightfully pissed off when you return. But you better return, Sherlock Holmes. Or you'll have me to deal with."

"As have I, you. Well, well well, the late Miss Irene Adler". She turned, stolling over to him, running her hands down his suit.

"Hello, my dear Mycroft'

 


	19. 19

Sherlock adjusted his gossamer mask as he danced in circles with the pretty blonde socialite. He had little interest in her, his interest solely on the host of this Masked Ball. With his dark red hair and mask, he was virtually unrecognisable, he just needed a reason to go after the man. There, perfect, he'd left the room for a smoke. Sherlock let go of the woman, leaving her stranded and confused in the middle of the room and followed after the Host, as silently as possible.

He closed the door, locking it quietly before moving to stand next to his Host. He pulled out a cigarette from his suit pocket. "Mind if I borrow your lighter?" The host smiled, handing it over immediately. Sherlock lit the end of his cigarette and handed the lighter back, taking a deep puff, leaning his head back and letting a cloud of smoke escape from his lips.

"Enjoying the party?"

The Host turned to look at the beautiful view from the balcony. "Somewhat." He took the opportunity of the man's distraction to take out his gun and point it at his head. "Thats goo-...what the hell? What are you playing at!" Sherlock sighed at the obviously predictable response. "Please get on your knees and come quietly". The man glared at him, his reply indignant. "I shall do no such thing, who the hell are you?"

Sherlock watched Mycrot's men abseil down from the balcony above and head towards his captive suspect.

"The name's Holmes, Sherlock Holmes"

* * *

"John? Theres a phone call for you! Someone called Greg?" John threw down his paper and rushed towards the phone. Maybe he had a case he needed medical advice on. God John was bored, work was good but never exciting. Just a way to get money really. "Hello?"

"John! How are you? Haven't heard from you in a while mate. Got a bit worried. Anyway, thats not why I'm calling. Got a case right now, man was shot through the head, looking for another medical opinion. Interested?" John grinned. This was perfect, finally something to relieve his boredom. "Of course mate! Count me in, I'll be right over. Yeah... yeah ok. Thanks, bye!" He hung up the phone, clearly excited. He shouldn't be, a man was just shot. But this was the feeling he usually got before a case.

"Look at you all happy" She ruffled his hair. "A friend?" He nodding, grinning. "Greg Lestrade, I told you about him remember? Anyway, he needs my help. So I better go." He leaned forward and kissed her cheek. "I know we are planning to see a movie tonight, I'll be back in time a promise.. it's just that this..I need this." Mary pecked him back and smiled, rubbing his arm. "I know John, have fun!" John smiled and exited the flat.

A few second later he opened the door again. "Mary?...Do you want to come?"

"Oh God Yes"

* * *

Pleased with his progress, Sherlock had returned home to London. As he made his way down the dark streets towards Molly's flat, he wondered how long it would take him to tie up the rest of Moriarty's web. So he didn't notice the man currently following him. "Nice night out for a stroll, isn't it, Sherlock Holmes." Sherlock whipped his head around but was unable to make out the man's face in the darkness. "I'm afraid you're mistaken. Its quite alright, it is very dark" The man chuckled darkly, before slowing walking towards the detective.

"No.. I know exactly who you are. But don't worry, I'm not here to hurt you, just to give you a warning, a friendly warning"

"Oh?"

"Back off, I know what you've been doing, so we're are giving you a chance to stop all this. We'd hate to kill you...seeing as you are already dead. So, things will be much easier for you if you..just stop"

"We?"

"Thats not your problem"

Sherlock looked thoughtful, this was getting interesting! "Well if you know me and who I am, I don't have to tell you that I will not stop going after his web. But thanks all the same for the warning." The man moved closer, leaning in towards Sherlock's ear. "Yes, I knew you'd say that, so I thought I'd leave you with a little parting gift. Just for fun. I get bored too" Sherlock felt something sharp suddenly sting his arm, turning just to see the man twiddle a now empty syringe between his fingers.

"Have fun getting home, Sherlock!" The man left, whistling. Sherlock stood still for a second before taking a step, immediately regretting the action as his whole world begin to spin.


	20. 20

Sherlock fell to a heap against the cold pavement. Everything was spinning. He lay there for several minutes, feeling light headed and slightly ill. Eventually he regained the ability to stand and stumbled off into the night. It took Sherlock almost half an hour to stagger towards Molly's flat, rapping on the door several times. "I'm coming, I'm coming...Sherlock!" Sherlock pushed past her, teetering back and forth as he made his way into her living room.

"Sherlock!" His eyes darted around the room till he found Molly.

"Molly, Molly, Molly. I came...'s fast 's I could." He suddenly giggled and he had no idea why.

"Are you ok?". The ginger detective swayed.

"I'm fine... I'm absolutely fine"

"Are you drunk?"

"Nononono...is this my flat Molly?"

He continued to sway so badly that Molly pushed him onto her couch before he fell over. "No silly this is mine." Sherlock nodded. "Thought so...not a fan of pink". The way he emphasised the word  _pink_  made her smile. Molly looked at him, completely confused. "Are you on drugs?" Sherlock tilted his head, looking at her perplaxed and then his eyes widen. "The man!"

"What man"

"The man-man...he had a needle!"

"...I think I should call Mycroft"

"No"

"Why not? He can help you!"

"I don't like his face"

"Sherlock, if you've been drugged I have to!"

"I'm absolutely fine. Je pense I should lie down for a bit though. No Mycroft...lazy so 'n' so"

Molly raised an eyebrow at the sudden use of french. The detective laid his head on the couch for a few minutes, while Molly decided to call Mycroft just in case.

* * *

_/You need to come at once. Somethings wrong with Sherlock, No.. No Sherlock put that down! Sherlock! Please hurry Mr Holmes!/_

_/Hi it's me again! Please get here soon! I don't know what he's been drugged with, but he's out of control! No Sherlock! Put Toby down!"_

" _It's for an experiment..."_

" _Put him down!"/_

_/Mycroft...it's Molly again, if you don't get your governmental butt down here soon, so help me you won't have a little brother! HURRY THE HELL UP MYCROFT HOLMES!"_

_NO! Don't come, piss off Mycroft!"_

" _Sherlock give me that! Go stand in the corner!"/_

* * *

"Sir? Your phone has been ringing for a few hours now, I know you are busy but the young lady on the other end seems to be getting quite frantic." Mycroft raised his eyebrows, taking his phone from the tray offered and dismissing the man.

_You have 3 new messages._

* * *

Sherlock was currently searching for clues in her sofa, so she hoped it was safe enough to leave him alone for a few seconds. "Stay here...don't move or anything." Sherlock gave her a funny look. "How can...can I not move, Molly? I am in const'nt motion!" He punctuated every word and waved his hands about, as if they emphasised his opinions. She gave him a smile and patted his shoulder. "Go back to what you were doing, I'll see who's at the door"

She ran as quickly as she was able. "Finally, I have no idea what to do, Mr Holmes." Mycroft removed his coat, placing it on a hook on the wall. "Don't worry, I'm sure I can sort things out for you." Mycroft smiled but Molly could see his eyebrows were furrowed. He was worried.

There was a sudden, almighty crash. "That wasn't me!" Molly couldn't help but smile and the two of them made their way back to the living room to find the detective trying to stop several glasses from a cabinet from meeting their untimely end.

"I didn't do it"

* * *

"Oh Sherlock.." Molly and Mycroft quickly took the glasses and uprighted them, Mycroft grabbed his brother by the shoulders. "Let go Mycroft!" Mycroft refused to comply and pushed his brother back on the couch. "..Go 'way Myc! I'm ferpectly pine!" His brother sighed and sat next to him, grabbing one arm to make sure he didn't try and escape. "Is that why you are mangling the english language, Lockie?" Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "I'll m'ngle you".

"Mr Holmes?"

"Molly, this is my private physician, Dr Palmer" An elderly man with overly large eyebrows appeared from the door way and made his way over to the two brothers. Mycroft left his brother in the doctor's capable hands and took Molly out of the room. "Will he be ok?" Mycroft nodded. "I would expect so, he is no stranger to drugs, difficult to believe, perhaps, but it is the truth." Molly looked back worriedly at her friend.

"Stupid vieil man"

"Sherlock Holmes, behave yourself"

His brother's reply was to stick out his tongue in defiance. The doctor seized that opportunity to look down his throat. "He will be fine, I shall stay here tonight to make sure." Molly was relieved, she wasn't sure she could handle a drugged out Sherlock. "He'll be out of it for awhile, I think he's about to pass out pretty soon, I'll be by tomorrow to make sure he's alright. See you Mr Holmes, Miss Hooper" The elderly man packed up his things and left.

"Molly?" He sounded so young and innocent.

"What is it Sherlock?" He looked around widely, quickly appearing anxious and confused.

"Wh're's John?" He'd begun to slur, part of the effects of whatever the young detective had been drugged with, supposed Molly.

"...He's not here Sherlock, he's at home"

"B'ker Street?"

"No.."

"C'n we see him? Why isn't he h're?"

"Sherlock..." Mycroft sat on his other side. "He can't be here right now, Sherlock. Look, you need to rest, come now." He leaned down to help his brother out of his shoes, Molly rushed off and quickly returned with his pyjamas. "Why c'n't he be h're?..Did I do s'mthing wrong? Is he angry at me?" His eyes were wide, on the verge of tears. "No Sherlock.. he's not angry at you" He looked to Molly, a single tear running down his cheek as Mycroft helped him into his sleeping gear.

"Then why c'nt I see him?"

"...Sherlock...you know the answer to that question. You just need to think" Molly couldn't bear to explain things to him while in this vulnerable state, so she left the answering to his older brother.

His head dropped against his chest, dejected, his brother quickly pushed him down and turned him so his head rested against a pillow. "I miss John. I miss him, Myc" Molly gave Sherlock a peck on the cheek and said goodnight. "Wake me if you need me." Mycroft gave her a slight smile and waved her off.

"I know Sherlock" He took the chair next to the sofa, his hands stroking back the red locks on his brothers head. "Does he h'te me? Is th't why I c'nt see him?" The slurring was rapidly getting worse, it wouldn't be long before Sherlock's body would give and let him sleep. Mycroft kept stroking his hair. "Sherlock he could never hate you. You know the answer, but in your current state, you just cant understand." Sherlock looked up at his older brother, with watery eyes. "Th'n tell me." His voice was broken. Mycroft sighed.

"Sherlock, you had to fake your death, in order to protect John. It simply isn't safe to go and see him."

"Oh...Will I ev'r see him ag'in, Myc?"

"Im sure you will."

Sherlock quickly dropped off to sleep not long after. His body occasionally shivering. Mycroft placed another blanket over his brothers lithe form and sat back in his chair, deep in thought. Someone knew Sherlock was alive. This was worrying. Oh dear brother, why do you have to get into such trouble? You better get through this soon Sherlock, everyday you are out there is another day where I am stuck in my office, worrying if you will come back in piece, waiting for the day I receive a phonecall to tell me you really have died.

Mycroft was thankful everyday that his brother was not dead, that he had returned to him. He had been angry at first but upon hearing his brother's story he had found himself feeling something he had not expected. Pride.

He was so very proud of his brother.


	21. 21

_John unfolded his newspaper, smiling at the hat photograph that had continued to appear again and again in all the newspapers. Sherlock didn't understand it. John thought it was hilarious and was thinking of cutting them out, like he often did when the papers mentioned one of their cases, and placing the photos in a scrapbook. Just to annoy Sherlock. Who must be currently out on a case, seeing as he wasn't here and complaining he was bored. Of course he didn't tell John. He never did._

_Footsteps echoed from the stair-case. Sherlocks. See, he wasn't the only one who could deduce such things. "Save the day did you? Solve the mystery?" John didn't look up as he taunted the detective. However there was no witty comeback. This alone was not unusual as the detective often went days without ever uttering a single word. John turned around anyway, for all he knew something could be wrong. And it was. And God did John wish he hadn't turned at all._

_Sherlock was in his usual attire. Long Belstaff coat, deep blue scarf wrapped around his neck. Nothing out of the ordinary there. No, what tipped him off that something was very wrong, was the fact that his face was drenched in blood, one side seemingly dented. He was as white as snow, his lips blue and his eyes, dead, hollow. His hair dripped little pools of blood onto the carpet._

_"Something wrong John?"_

_"Apart from the fact, you're dead? No nothing at all. Not one f-fucking thing"_

_John dropped the paper, putting his head in his hands and trying not to cry. The army doctor felt a hand cup his chin, a cold, dead hand. It was freezing, like touching ice. John grabbed the wrist, but there was no pulse. There would never be a pulse. "Look at me, John", The doctor shook his head, no he couldn't look at Sherlock. Not like this. Never like this._

_"John"_

_"No, shut up. Please just shut up. You're dead and you aren't coming back. Please. Just shut up."_

_"Why?"_

_"No.. please don't sound so confused. Why do you have to sound so...alive?"_

_"Because right now I'm not"_

_A pain filled chuckled escaped John's lips, quickly growing into sobs. John's shoulders heaved as the army doctor poured out his tears, letting them trickle past his fingertips and mingle with the blood upon the floor._

_"I miss you, so much. Sherlock why did you do it? Please just tell me that. Was it my fault?"_

_But the flat was empty. He would never get that answer._

* * *

John awoke slowly, sweating as he normally did during such dreams. He was glad Mary was asleep in her flat tonight. He didn't want her to see him cry. The dreams never seemed to stop. Whether they were simply memories or scenes from the worst horror film imaginable; they never ceased to plague the army doctor. His therapist said that it was because he blamed himself. And he did. Because it was true. Was this his punishment? An eternity of seeing his friend die over and over again? Of having his heart continually broken when ever he awoke, remembering that he was no longer there?

Perhaps it was. And perhaps he deserved it.

* * *

_Sherlock looked down at the quiet street below. It seemed so far, so final. The wind whipped around him, his coat billowing. If he didn't jump, they'd all be dead. He knew when he came up here, that Moriarty would try and make the detective take his own life. So Sherlock had arranged to meet on top of St Barts. They would do things on his terms. Oh, The consulting criminal would think he had the upper hand, but in reality the control remained in Sherlock's court._

_Or so he thought._

_No one was supposed to get hurt, except himself, if it came to that. Jim had cheated, but then that was him all over. Sherlock's only consultation was that he had a plan to save his own life if he had to jump. For a split second he thought he had found a way out, until Jim had given him that little incentive. If you don't jump, all your friends will die._

_Which was why Sherlock was now standing on the edge of the building, still hesitant. John would never know the truth. No one would. But then John had returned, Sherlock now had no choice but to break his friend's heart. So he told him a lie, a fairy tale and prepared to jump. But he waited too long. He had hesitated for a fraction more than he should and John fell. Not Sherlock. John. John fell to the ground with a bullet in his head. And Sherlock knew that elsewhere in London the same fate had befallen Lestrade and Mrs Hudson. Terror filled him. Then grief. Then nothing._

_He'd lost and as he sobbed for the friends he had killed, he slipped and fell, falling into a deep abyss._

* * *

Sherlock sat up so suddenly that Mycroft spilled all his tea down his front. The ginger detective looked around wildly, panting, his face anxious and terrified. He lay his head back down, wiping the sweat from his brow and kicking off the blanket, his body shivering with cold sweat. "Sssh 'Lockie. It was just a dream. You know it wasn't real". Sherlock shook his head. Mycroft didn't understand.

It almost had been.

* * *

Two men lay back in their beds. Each mourning the loss of another, each mourning a man who was not dead. Except one believed it to be true while the other mourned the loss of a friendship he feared he would never get back. Of a man he wondered if he would ever speak to again.


	22. Letters To A Corpse

John placed the small stack of paper in a disused shoebox. Now and then a new letter would be added to the ever growing pile. What would become of them, he did not know. He did not care. Letters to a dead man had no true purpose.

* * *

_February 11th_

_Dear Sherlock,_

_My therapist has suggested I write to you, even though writing is what got us into this whole mess. If I had never written my blog then perhaps none of this would ever had happened. But I guess that's one of the things we will never know. To be quite honest I have no idea why I am writing to you. You yourself would probably think it's a ridiculous idea, writing to a man who's dead, who can never reply. But then, I speak to your grave, which is the same idea I suppose. You can't answer me back, but it makes me feel just a little better. But not really._

_I have questions. Why, is really the biggest one. Why did you jump? Why did you try and convince me to believe a lie? Why did you leave me? Why didn't you let me help you? Because I would have, you know, helped you anyway I could. I find it so hard to believe that you killed yourself. If I had not seen it with my own two eyes I would refuse to believe it.You told me to stay and I should have moved anyway. When you jumped, it was all my nightmares come to life. Except never had I thought you would kill yourself. I thought we would spend years together as friends. Solving mysteries, helping clients, going on adventures. Instead all I got was almost eighteen months. Which wasn't enough.._

_And in that time you took something from me. You took my limp, you took my nightmares of war, bit by bit. But most of all you took my part of my heart. I don't remember even giving it to you. You tore out my heart, Sherlock. You had no right. No fucking right. And now it's gone. It's buried six feet under with the greatest man I ever knew and I will never get it back._

_Thats all I can write at the moment. This bloody paper is covered in tear stains anyway. I hate you. I fucking hate you. You fucking bastard._

_John._

* * *

_March 8th_

_Dear Idiot,_

_Bastard, git, sod, arse, bloody idiot._

_I hate you. I hate your face. I hate your coat. I hate your hat. I hate your skull. I hate your scarf. I hate your fucking flat._

_I hate you._

_John._

* * *

_March13th_

_Dear Sherlock,_

_I keep having nightmares about your death. They won't go away. Can't you do something? Please? Just come back Sherlock. Just for me, just stop this. Please, I miss you so much. Just come back. I'll do anything. I'll never complain about your habits again. I'll praise you. I'll help with your experiments. I'll never bother you about the milk again. Please. Don't be dead. Just come back._

_I miss you._

_John._

* * *

_March 31st_

_Dear Sherlock,_

_I can't stand your flat. I just can't. Too many god-damn memories. Every time I venture inside, the memory of you hits me in the face. I can't look at your flat without crying. Yes, your. It's not mine anymore. You are in every inch of its walls._

_I look at the couch and I see you sulking in it in your silk dressing gown. I look at the kitchen table and see you perched over a new experiment. I see the desk and you are on your laptop typing up some new analysis on perfumes or footprints or something utterly ridiculous. I see your chair..._

_Your fucking chair. When I sit in my own, all I see is you in the other. But it's so empty. How can one piece of furniture make me cry so much, Sherlock? How can I burst into tears after looking at an empty armchair? Or a lone skull? A cluedo board? A smily face, sprayed onto the wall?_

_How, Sherlock?_

_How?_

_How could you do this to me? To Mrs Hudson? To Molly? To Lestrade? Yes he cares. He hates himself. I hate myself. Well done. I hope you're happy._

_Keep your bloody flat. I'm moving out. Far away._

_John._

* * *

_April 15th._

_Dear Sherlock,_

_...Fuck this. Fuck you._

_John._

* * *

_May, who fucking cares about the date._

_Dear Sherlock,_

_I met this girl. She's beautiful, smart, funny, adventures. I love her to pieces. But I'm scared. I'm scared of trusting what's left of my heart with her. I'm scared of ruining things. I'm scared that if I fall madly in love with her, that I will forget you. I don't want to forget you, Sherlock. But I am so scared I will._

_Me, the solider. My heart is so fragile because of you. What if I can't make things work between her and I? What if Im never meant to fall in love? What if it's just useless me trying? But I love her. So I will try. Because I need someone. I'm so bloody lonely. And it's all your fault. Even now, five months on. I still blame you. But I will always blame myself so much more._

_The nightmares won't end, the dreams won't cease._

_And I keep on writing to a corpse._

_John._

* * *

_May_

_Dear Sherlock,_

_You'll never guess who I found in my living room today. Or maybe you would guess. What am I saying? Of course you would know. Anyway, it was Irene Adler. She was supposed to be dead but it turns out, surprise, surprise, that you saved her life. How could you not tell me? How could you not trust me with that information? Or did it just slip your mind...again. You never fucking tell me anything._

_She was her normal self of course. Flirting with me, flirting with Mary. She didn't know. Thought you were still alive, faking your death. God, I wish you were. She all but insinuated that I was thick, that I was stupid for believing you were dead. But like I told her, she didn't hear your last words, see your last moments, see you jump. She didn't watch you fall, she didn't see her best friends life spread out across the pavement, she didn't hold the lifeless hand of the closest friend in her whole world._

_You're dead, Sherlock. She didn't want to believe it. But its the truth. She must have really liked you, the look on her face when she finally listened to me. I felt a little happy to be honest. Finally I was the one with all the answers. She left pretty quickly, I could tell she was upset._

_Why is she allowed to come back? Why aren't you? You should be the one to come back to life. Not her. It's not fair. Not fucking fair._

_There's...been something I meant to ask you, even though you can't answer. My therapist thinks I should go back to writing my sodding blog. So I wondered if I should write up some old cases, would that be ok with you? Of course, you wouldn't care. I may even, one day, write up that fateful day. Just so everyone gets the whole story._

_John._

_P.S. I still miss you every day....Please come back.._


	23. Letters To A Friend

_John,_

_Should you receive these from a hand other than my own, then I am dead. I have died or about to die with no chance of escape. Right now I expect that you would be cursing and yelling at my ghost. How boringly typical, John. But please listen carefully. Forget me. Just forget me._

_Let our time together be something at the back of you mind, a strange blip in your life story. And over the years you and everyone else will move on and forget me too. It will be easier for you to deal with things. Especially upon relising I was alive when you expected me dead._

_One more thing. Just one. Have a good life, John. Have the least boring, dull, typical life. Let it be brilliant._

_Sincerely Yours,_

_Sherlock_

* * *

Surveying his handiwork, and liberal use of a reference from a TV show he could remember John liking, Sherlock sat back in his chair, placing the note on top of several letters, bound with red string. The detective then placed the pile back into a wooden box and locked it with a key. Mycroft had a copy of his own. This was only to be given to John in the event that Sherlock did not survive the task he had set himself. He owed it to John to let him know what had happened. Didn't he? These were letters and notes that he had chosen to address to the one person who understood him.

And should he survive? Then perhaps one day he would show them to John. His memoirs of the one adventure his best friend could not be a part of.

* * *

_January 16th_

_Dear John,_

_Yesterday I died..._

_Yesterday I jumped off St Bart's to save your life._

_This is less a letter, more a note to myself. I do not have the skull anymore, nor you. Just this letter. It will have to do for now._

_Sherlock_

* * *

_January 22nd_

_Dear John,_

_I decided to start writing letters addressed to you, in the event that I fail in the task I have set myself. Perhaps one day you will receive them, if that is indeed the outcome, and you will learn all that I have tried to achieve during my undoubtably long absence. If that is not the case, perhaps one day I will show you these letters and laugh._

_Today I went to my own funeral. It was both an interesting and strange experience. You cried. Mrs Hudson cried, even Molly and she knew I was alive. She was the only one. Lestrade cried. I was surprised to see him there. Considering all that had happened before my fall. Mycroft did not cry, however, he did when he went to see my 'body' at the morgue. I have never seen him cry before. It was unnerving._

_It is strange to hear my name spoken in the past tense. Was and were instead of is and are. It's funny how a mere switch in one's own grammar can generate such sadness. You tried to stay calm. You saluted my empty coffin. Why do you still show me such loyalty? I have never been the best of friends to you, I could have been. I should have been. Maybe one day that will change. Maybe._

_I was at the cemetery as well. Perhaps you saw a man with red hair talking to Molly. Perhaps you didn't. That was me. Molly has been so kind and caring. I doubt considering how I used to treat her that I deserve such treatment. And normally I would not care for such things, but right now things are not normal. Far from it._

_I told Mycroft. I had to. Not just because I needed the resources only he can provide. But because, after all he did, all the problems he caused, he is still my brother. He was calm, collected as usual. He may even have suspected. But I have always been able to fool him. I know he was relieved to find me alive. Though I suspect a strongly worded lecture later. And, god forbid, a hug._

_I promise I will return soon._

_Sherlock_

* * *

_Feburary 12th_

_Dear John,_

_I saw you at my grave the other day. Please move on. I told you those lies hoping you would. But you still believe in me. Why? I'm leaving the country, John. There is little I can do here, except watch you mourn from afar. I wish I could answer your pleas. I wish I could say something to stop your tears. But it's not safe. I sacrificed myself, in a way, for you. For Mrs Hudson and strangely enough, for Lestrade. But mostly for you. So until it's safe I can not return._

_I'm leaving for Europe. Moriarty's web is still spinning. Now is the time, while the spider is dead, to destroy whats left of his empire, before another spider takes his place. If I do not return, Mycroft has orders to explain everything to you. And to deliver all my letters. You were and always shall be my closest friend._

_Sincerely Yours,_

_Sherlock Holmes._

* * *

_March 7th_

_Dear John,_

_Another string from the web has been undone. Some of these 'missions' as Mycroft insists on calling them, are terribly boring. All I need is a gun and back up, and they are behind bars in minutes. Dull. How I long to be back in Baker Street on a case, shooting up the wall, complaining to you. How I long for something exciting to happen._

_I think you would find my current appearance very amusing. I have red hair when in London, but on many of my missions I am blond. Molly is kind enough to help me with these aspects of my disguises. I attempted to do so myself once and ended up making a mess of Mycroft's bathroom, although that wasn't entirely an accident._

_Before you ask, I am keeping myself safe. So far the only injuries I have sustained is a bruise on my right foot from dropping Molly's toaster and a burn to my hands due that cat of her's. Dratted animal. Aside from that I have been quite well._

_Little else to add. Shall write another letter soon._

_Sherlock_

* * *

_March 9th_

_Dear John,_

_Please ignore the above letter. I recently sustained a head wound, most likely a concussion, not long after writing the previous note. Arrived at Molly's dazed and confused. She patched me up and I believe I fell asleep on her couch. Today my head is still relatively sore but this should clear up in a few days._

_Will be much more careful in the future._

_Sherlock_

* * *

_March 31st,_

_Dear John,_

_Mycroft tells me you have cleaned out our flat. I suppose this means you are moving on with your life. Good. However I hope you have kept some of my things. I do not wish to return to a completely empty house._

_You were at my grave today. Mycroft told me you were going, as usual. I watched you. Listened to you. Please don't cry, John. I am not worth your tears. I think there is a poem, yes I do read some literature other than non-fiction John, that I came across whilst doing some research for an alias. However I find only the first and last lines applicable to your situation._

_Do not stand at my grave and weep,_

_I am not there; I do not sleep._

_Do not stand at my grave and cry,_

_I am not there; I did not die._

_Sherlock._

* * *

_April 5th_

_Dear John,_

_Bored._

_Sherlock._

* * *

_April 17th_

_More men behind bars._

_Have become incredibly bored in between missions and borrowed a computer from my brother. A little tweaking and anyone who cares to look at the IP address would believe me to be in Norway. You might have heard about the remarkable observations and explorations of a man named Sigerson. It probably never occurred to you that you were receiving news of your friend. Unfortunately like myself he is becoming quite the internet sensation._

_This was not the outcome I wished. I simply needed something to occupy my mind. It was either that or drugs and we both know how that normally turned out. Besides with my brother checking me over as often as possible for needle marks or any other sign of drug-use, it would be impossible to sustain that habit at the moment._

_I hope you are doing well. Mycroft says you are still in mourning. It has been four months. Please move on with your life John._

_Sherlock_

* * *

_May 9th_

_Dear John,_

_Mycroft and Molly tell me you have fallen in love. How chemical. I expect you would think that love is a mystery to me but the chemistry behind it is absurdly simple. Dopamine, serotonin, oxytoxin. Testosterone and oestrogen. Love is but a chemical reaction, John and nothing more._

_I am at a loss on how to feel. Should I feel? I always did, I just refused to show it or buried my feelings on the matter deep within my soul. I am...happy for you. Thats what people say? Isn't it? It's a lie of course. I am not happy for you._

_She seems to be much smarter than the women you normally consort with, but that does not mean I have to like her. However, it is a sign that things are getting better for you, which is what I want but.. my mind is conflicted still._

_If I return and you are still in love, I will be alone. You will live with her and I will live by myself like I used to. I will go one cases alone, you will be with her. My life would not be the same. You would be happy and I would not._

_But, who knows what will happen in between now and my return. If I return. Perhaps it will go nowhere, perhaps she is not the right person for you. We shall see._

_Sherlock._

_P.S . Mycroft says Irene has returned. And she thinks me dead. She is now in my brother's employ and I have the difficult decision on whether or not to reveal myself to her. What would you do John? Why am I asking a piece of paper? It's illogical and it's emotional but I miss you._


	24. The League of Gingers

_..._

John had decided to begin writing on his blog again except he had little idea on how on earth to start the bloody thing. He had already decided to write up some old cases but how to start? How? Did he pretend nothing had happened? Did he post a little note before he began? What should he do? John sighed deeply before simply going with his last train of thought.

* * *

_I've decided to go back to writing my blog, however I am keeping the comments disabled for now. I don't trust you to not insult the memory of my best friend. I don't care what you think, I just don't want to see the hatred and lies spewed on here like they are in the papers._

_I believe in Sherlock Holmes and always will and if you don't get off my bloody blog. If you do, thank you. I know he would have appreciated it in his own funny way._

_The following two cases took place shortly after the incident in Dartmoor._

* * *

There. That looked right to begin with. Which case to write up first? "I think you should right up the one about the gingers, John" piped up a voice from around his shoulders. John's lips curled, that had certainly been an interesting case. Definitely one of the more amusing ones.

"The League of Ginger's it is then, Mary"

* * *

_I remember this incident started with an explosion. A minor one actually. Located entirely in our kitchen. Guess who started it. You don't have to be the worlds only consulting detective to figure that out._

_I'd woken up fairly early, due to getting little sleep the night before. Thanks to the midnight musician. Sherlock was perched over a new experiment. Sometimes I wonder if there are any real reasons for doing them or he just likes the explosions. In any case a few seconds later there was one. And Sherlock Holmes ended sprawled up on the ground. I cracked up laughing for about two minutes until I noticed he was still on the ground. The idiot had given himself a concussion and was rambling in french for a solid ten minutes. He found it, "fascinating". I had the urge to give him another reason for a head injury. A few seconds later, however, off goes the door bell. A client._

_He was quite a tall man, with fiery red hair. His name was Mr Wilson. There wasn't anything really remarkable about him. At least in my opinion. Sherlock however quickly remarked that the man was a smoker, used to manual labour, recently back from China and recently done a great deal of writing. He does love to show off. The man was quite impressed and begged Sherlock to explain how he had 'deduced' all that. It was of course relatively simple once explained._

_Mr Wilson regaled us with a tale about his son, who had recently, in Mr Wilson's belief, joined a cult. The oddest thing about this cult was that to join, one had to have fiery red hair. Not reddish blonde, not strawberry blonde, not deep red but fiery red. Sherlock and I found this piece of information somewhat amusing and we both burst out in a fit of laughter, which of course, quite insulted our client. We assured him we would take the case and ushered him from the flat not long after._

_Sherlock suggested that one of us needed to go undercover, the problem with this idea is that neither of us was a ginger. So hair dye it was and like hell would I be the one to do it. We flipped a coin, it came up heads so guess which flatmate had to go red? Sherlock. God he was such a child sometimes, really. Firstly he complained I was doing it wrong, then he whined that I should be the one to go, then as the dye began to trickle down his cheeks he all but had a childish tantrum. It was thoroughly amusing though, to see him ginger. The look on his face was priceless._

_Not much happened to be entirely honest, Sherlock ventured off to the "cult" which was in fact not a cult at all as it turned out. It was a scam, a con. A way to get people out of their houses at certain times of the day so other members could rob them. Because Mr Wilson worked from 9-6, his son was usually at home for most of the day, joining this cult had given him a reason to let his new mates steal from his stingy father. Why red hair? Blowed if I know, perhaps because it would seem less like a scam if it was aimed at one hair colour._

_I still crack up laughing whenever I think of Sherlock with that red hair. I still have the photo. Would not have missed this case for the world, boring or no._

* * *

John finished typing, leaning back and picking up the mug of warm tea that Mary had been kind enough to leave on the desk. His finger hovered over the post button. Should he send it? He took a deep breath and pressed the button. "John?" He turned his head. Mary stood behind him in her aqua dressing gown. "I think you should enable the comments. Just this once...see what happens. If you get abuse, delete it and disable the comments again, but.. people might like to talk to you." John shook his head, he feared the abuse, the hateful comments, the spiteful words.

"All those people who used to comment, still believe, John.. let them voice their opinions here.."

"...I don't know..."

"Give them a chance, John..they lost a friend too.."

John turned back to his laptop. "Just this once." He replied, adjusting the settings on his blog. "Just this once."

* * *

"How are you feeling?"

"Fine"

"Liar"

"If you know I'm lying then why bother even asking,  _Mycroft?_ "

"Force of habit. Besides I had hoped you might have 'grown' a little during your absence. It seems I was wrong to think so"

"Clearly"

"Just as childish as before"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but he was clearly enjoying the banter between himself and his older brother. In truth, he wasn't feeling so good. He still felt quite ill from the drug. Last night he'd even had a fever and to add to his embarrassment, it was Mycroft who had nursed him back to health. This was not the first time he had done so in a long time. Usually John would be the one to look after him if he was sick or injured, which was thankfully, quite rare. Except John wasn't here...

"Sherlock?" His brother clicked his fingers a few times in front of his nose. "What?" Mycroft raised his eyebrows. "You need a partner. I have just the person." The detective shook his fiery head. "Too dangerous, your back up is enough." Mycroft disagreed. "I dislike the idea of you constantly venturing in alone. You need someone able to scope out the houses or buildings as well as the suspects." Mycroft handed him a phone.

"She is back. Text her. She doesn't know you are alive yet. Text her and arrange to meet her here."

"No"

"It's not open for discussion, dear brother. Text. Her. Now."

Sherlock sighed. He might as well, Mycroft would continue to bother him until he did and he had to remarkable ability to be incredibly annoying if he so desired. So he took the phone and typed a quick message and pressed send.

* * *

_I'm not dead. Let's have dinner- SH_

_  
_


	25. 25

John rubbed his eyes and finished his tea. Writing up this case had thrown him into a wide range of emotions. Anger, mirth, sadness. Every sentence hurt to write. But it helped. It was nice to remember his old cases, even if it did push home the fact that his best friend was no longer with him. Even if he cried at the happy memories.

He turned the laptop off and picked up the framed picture sitting on the desk. Mary had made a copy of the photo of him and Sherlock laughing and had it framed. It now sat on his desk where he saw it everyday. It reminded him why he was doing this. To clear his name and ease the hurt the man had caused.

"Night Sherlock" He told the photo and headed to bed.

* * *

Irene was unsure what she was going to find. After all, only one person could have written that text. Was she right? Was he alive? Or was it all an elaborate hoax? The flat was small, one might easily pass it in the streets and pay it little attention. Outside waited a familiar vehicle belonging to Mycroft Holmes. She walked up to the front door and gently knocked.

A mousy-haired young woman answered. "Hello" She smiled warmly. "Are you Irene Adler?". The Woman nodded and Molly moved to the side to allow her and Kate entrance. "They're just through the next room. Expecting you of course..hope you.. um.. like chinese food" Molly took their coats and ushered them into the living room.

Sherlock lay alone on the couch, his brother by his side, poking him with a chopstick. "You have to eat something, you've been ill. Do not make me force feed you. Again." Sherlock groaned, turning to face the back of the couch. This only served to annoy Mycroft further, who continued to poke his little brother in the back with the chopstick.

Irene remained silent, her lips curling at the private display of brotherhood before her. Molly pushed past her causing Mycroft to turn, frown and place the chopstick back on the table. "Wonderful to see you, Miss Adler..and associate." Irene walked over towards the little table set up in the middle of the living room. She patted Mycroft on his suit breast and proceeded to kneel down in front of Sherlock.

"So you are alive..I knew it"

"If you knew, why bother stating?" Sherlock droned into the side of the couch. "Haven't changed a bit have you?" Sherlock turned and Irene could see the months away had not been kind to him. His face was still flushed from his fever last night, he'd lost weight as well and there were several tell tale signs of a recent skirmish between him and another individual.

"Brother you have guests, do be at least a little bit sociable, please"

"Why?"

Irene smirked. "You should listen to your brother. He has your best interests at heart" Sherlock scoffed at the very idea. "Sit down and eat your dinner, Sherlock Holmes" Sherlock rolled his eyes, dismissing the very thought. Irene leaned forward, clasping his ear with her manicured fingers and twisted it. Getting the desired reaction she twisted it until he finally got the message, he sat up and reached for his noodle box. Smiling, Irene grabbed hers and sat beside him. Molly , Kate and Mycroft watched amused from the table.

"This is why I believe it to be a perfect idea for her to work with you, Sherlock, she can keep you in check"

"Who keeps her in check then?"

"You"

* * *

John awoke the next morning to Mary pottering around his kitchen. They'd swapped keys so it wasn't uncommon for the other to pop over unannounced. Their relationship was moving along so quickly, John could scarcely believe it. "Good morning, John" She made her way over to him with a warm mug of tea and a plate full of jam and toast. She kissed him lightly on his cheek, placing the food and drink on his desk.

"You should check your blog"

John raised his eyebrows, watching her leave for the shower, a secretive smile spread across her beautiful face. He turned to his computer and sat down in front of it, turning it on.

His recent blog post had already received several comments.

* * *

Good to see you back to writing mate. I believe.

Mike Stamford 5:43

Loved the photo! Still makes me sad. We all miss him. I believe in Sherlock.

Jacob Sowerby 6:00

I believe in Sherlock Holmes!

C Melas 6:30

John, Glad you are back to posting, mate! I missed the adventures of my favourite Hatman and Robin! I think he looks great as a ginger, too. I can't believe all the bad press going round, it really isn't fair. It's obvious somebody like him only comes around once in a lifetime, maybe three. He was definitely real, and the rest of us Believers won't stop until everybody knows. Sherlock was real. He always was, always will be.

Elizabeth Austin 6:58

John, why haven't you answered any of my call's or texts?

Harry Watson 7:12

Please, we need to talk. I'm here for you.

Harry Watson 7:21

finally a new case. it's about time.

theimprobableone 7:34

John, Glad you are back! We still believe in him Doctor Watson and we will never stop believing in him. The word is spreading about Sherlock Holmes and the word is strong and positive. The fight for his good name is growing. The world may have tried to fail Mr. Holmes but we will not let it win out. He will always be remembered. Your partnership and the good you did will never be forgotten. Please continue writing, I hate the thought of losing you both.

Little_Lotte 7:45

Adorable photo, John

the-whip-hand 8:00

Must have missed this case mate. Love the hair. Keep writing.

Greg Lestrade 8:14

Have followed your blog from the beginning. Do keep writing. I believe in Sherlock Holmes.

Normund Sigerson 8:22

Hope you're doing well mate.

Bill Murray. 8:34

Oh I remember how embarrassed he was about that hair colour. But it did suit him. Hope you're doing ok.

Mrs Hudson 8:41

Dear John,

Never give up the memory of a friend. The moment you do is the one you start to give up your love for them.

Sincerely,

Emily 8:55

See, John. I told you this was a good idea. xxx

Mary Morstan. 9:00

Hello John. How are you? Oh..he was quite cute with that red hair.

Molly Hooper 9:11

Have always loved your blog. I believe!

IbelieveInSherlockHolmes 9:15

:) Please write more! Your stories are like beacons of light in this never-ending darkness. We miss him too, but won't give up believing, so stay strong!

WatsonsWarriors 9:23

It's nice to see another case. I hope you post some of your others soon. Sherlock was no fraud. I believe, always will.

Henry Knight 9:28

* * *

John ran a hand over his open mouth. He'd expected maybe one or two kind comments and then half a dozen or more angry ones. He certainly had not expected this many. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He settled on both, laughing as tears streamed down his face. It gave him hope. These people believed in his lost friend and John would make sure none of them ever forgot him.

There were too many people for him to give individual replies so he set about writing up a new post to thank them all.

* * *

'Do you really think its a good idea to be posting on his blog, Sherlock?" Irene ran a finger along his cheek. He gave her a bemused look and returned his gaze to the computer screen. "He won't know its from me. Perhaps this way I can stay in contact and keep a closer eye on him. He still needs protection, Moriarty's right hand man is still out there." Irene withdrew her finger, picking up the glass of wine on the table.

"I suppose you know best"

"Of course"

* * *

John smiled as he pressed send. He stood, wrapping his arms's around Mary's neck and resting his head against her shoulder. "You were right. This was a good idea." Mary smiled, turning to kiss his cheek. "Of course". Grinning John took her face with both hands and brought his lips to hers.

* * *

_Thank you all so much for your kind words. Some of you I have kept in touch with, others I have not. For that I do apologise. And many others, I have never met before. Thank you for taking the time to comment. It's much appreciated. I'm sure he would have appreciated it too. In a way. I have a new email address, my other kept receiving hate mail, so if you wish to contact me please let me know._

_I thought, in thanks, to upload some of my photos of Sherlock. Enjoy._

_Thank you again. I will post again soon._

* * *

Before John closed his laptop he noticed his recent blog post already had one comment.

* * *

I should like to contact you again sometime, Dr Watson.

Normund Sigerson.


	26. 26

_For about a month now I have been in a relationship with a lovely young woman. Her name is Mary Mortsan. She lives in the flat opposite. Without her, I feel I would be adrift on the seas of grief. She's been my rock, my confident. I love her to bits to be quite honest and I just felt like letting you all know._

_Thanks for the comments on those photos I posted. I do have another, but I'll post it some other time. I have since got in contact with a few of you again since my post last week, which has been wonderful. Speaking of which something happened a few days ago that I feel I should tell you about.._

* * *

RING!

RING!

RING!

Only on the twentieth ring did John Watson finally get out of bed and make his way to his phone, grumbling the entire trip. "What do you want? And this better be worth my time, it's 5 o'clock in the bloody morning." A soft chuckle was heard on the other end. "Sorry John, I know you have work later so I thought I better catch you while I can. Look somethings come to my attention recently that I want to share with you. When can you come down?"

"To the Yard? I dunno, after work I suppose unless you want me to come now?"

"It's entirely up to you..but it concerns...it concerns Sherlock"

That got John's attention. "I'll be there as soon as I can". "Thanks mate" and they both hung up together. John rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and made his way to back to his bedroom. He took his trousers from off the chair, quickly stripping down to his pants and changing swiftly. "John?..Who was on the phone? Someone from work?". He shook his head, keeping his back to Mary as he pulled on his shirt.

"Lestrade, found something to do with Sherlock. Figure I'll go now instead of waiting at work wondering. You'll be alright?" He turned, planning to lean over and kiss her but she was starting to get out of bed. "What are you doing?". She smiled, changing from her nightie into jeans and purple turtlneck top. "Coming with you of course. I didn't get to meet this Lestrade last time, he had to leave remember? It would be nice to finally meet some of the people you talk so often about." John grinned back sheepishly. He took her hand in his and kissed it. "Come on then, don't want to miss him this time."

* * *

Lestrade waited patiently at his desk, a cardboard box sitting on top. Upon seeing John he stood, raising grey eyebrows at the sight of his pretty companion. Greg put his hand out and greeted her warmly. "You must be Mary, heard all about you from John. Nice to finally meet you. Sit down, sit down" John and Mary exchanged a glance and smiled back, John closed the door behind them. "Its wonderful to finally meet you too."

"So what was so urgent that you wanted to talk to me about?"

"Well it's not urgent per se, but I'm pretty sure you'd want to know about it, if you don't already. Theres.. well I suppose the word for it would be movement. Theres a movement going on around London and on the net it seems too, about Sherlock." John looked surprised, so he didn't know. "What do you mean exactly?" Lestrade took a breath, taking out the photo from the day of Sherlock's funeral, of the yellow writing on the wall. "It started with this it seems and its just spread all over the city.

Lestrae produced several more photos of various graffiti all proclaiming Sherlock's innocence. 'It's not just graffiti, but posters, post-it notes, flyers, badges, I've even seen a few tshirts." As he went on he produced a few more photos. "I've never seen anything like it. They either say, Sherlock Holmes was Innocent or Moriarty was Real. I've even seen one saying I'm fighting John Watsons War. You havent heard of this?" John was floored. This was completely new information to him. He had been rendered speechless. Mary picked up one of the photos, smiling at the words sprayed across the wall.

"He has supporters. This is wonderful." John nodded, the emotion that was quickly sweeping through left him unable to comment. Mary grabbed his hand and squeezed it, John gave her a wavering smile in return. "You said sweeping through London.. but there are so few photos. How do you know? Have you seen them yourself?" The detective inspector grinned and stood, picking up the cardboard box and tipping out his contents. Hundreds of photos, flyers and posters spilled out, covering the entire desk. John couldn't help it, he laughed till he cried. Mary wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close. He cried into her shoulder.

Lestrade looked concerned but Mary looked over John's head and mouthed a thank you. She helped John to his feet and began to usher him out the door, taking several of the photos. "Just one question, Greg" John had finally found his voice.

"Of course mate"

"How are you going on proving his innocence?"

Lestrade took a deep breath. "We're working on it, still going through old case files. Almost up to ...well.. his last one. By the way, once we're done, anything of his you want? I know we took a few things from the flat as well as the evidence left at Barts...thought I'd ask you first." John thought for a moment. "The phone." And then he left.

* * *

_So yes, this is great news. Really great and if any of you out there are reading this, thank you so much. On my behalf and on Sherlock's. He probably would have been flattered but confused. Never really liked the fame. But his ego always entirely vain._

_Im really pleased to see so many supporters. I hope the papers pick up on this. Theres people at the Yard working on clearing his good name. Hopefully it won't be long now when all the papers will proclaim his innocence and realise the hand they played in his demise._

_Hopefully I'll type up a new case for you soon. Thank you again._

* * *

John closed the tab, resting his face in the palm of his hand. This news had left him feeling a wide range of emotions. He was so happy to see that other people, who had never even met him, believed in Sherlock. To see it spread across the walls of London left tears in his eyes. But it made him remember the horrible day his friend left him. Why he had claimed he was a fraud was anyone's guess. John thought that Sherlock was simply trying to make his death not so hard on him. Or perhaps he thought this way,John would not be blamed alongside him, an unwilling participant. He supposed he would never truly know.

Sighing he opened up his new email address, checking to see if he had any new mail. Just one today.

* * *

_To Dr. Watson,_

_You said you would not mind the contact from me so I have obliged to send you this email. I feel I should introduce myself first. I am Normund Sigerson. I am from Norway but am currently travelling around Europe and Asia. You may know my blog, The Sigerson Expeditions. I write up my explorations and observations of the places I visit, usually not typical places of tourism._

_I am a professor at a university, back home in Norway. I have PH.D's in a variety of subjects. History, Chemistry, Astronomy and Cultural studies. I am currently teaching Astronomy. My expeditions are purely of pleasure not work. However they may be invaluable to the University one day. At least that is my hope._

_Please excuse any faults in my english. I am not so fluent as I would wish. Your blog came to my attention some time ago, during the case of the Blinded Banker I believe. My brother, Mikko, pointed it out to me. I have since become a follower of your blog. I feel I would have liked your Sherlock Holmes. He was a great man. A man after my own heart. Not many people recognise the little details. The ones everyone else misses._

_I felt I should write to you now because of your grief. I too have lost a friend. My only close friend, some many months, though it feels like longer. I am saddened, I know I may never see him again. He is missing you see. Not in permanent nature like yours but I feel the emotions are quite similar, even if the situations are different. I have only my brother and my sister Mildri, but I see them extremly rarely. My colleague at the university, Iduna is my only other confident._

_You do not have to answer this, Dr. Watson, I simply thought you may wish to talk to someone who understands. Please feel free to reply if you want, I will not be offended if you decline._

_Thank you for your time and please, continue with the blog._

_Your norwegian friend,_

_Normund Sigerson._


	27. 27

_Dear Normund,_

_I can call you that, can't I? Please just call me John, Dr. Watson is far too formal and this isn't exactly a formal conversation is it? Thank you so much for your email. It's wonderful to finally speak to a follower I don't know in real life. I have read your blog. It's very interesting, even if some of the things go over my head, but then, I am used to that sort of thing._

_Yeah, I definitely think Sherlock would have liked you. It's a pity you never got in contact before this. I could have introduced the two of you. But..not much can be done about that now. I'm very sad to hear about your friend. I completely understand how you must feel. I do hope you get to see him again._

_I only wish I had that hope to cling onto. Mine will never come back. During the first two months after his death, I kept expecting him to walk through the door and throw himself on the couch, bored. Or waking up to noxious odours from the kitchen or to him playing his violin. I couldn't believe he was gone. It just didn't make sense. Not one bit. But eventually I had to get used to the fact that he's gone, he killed himself, he is not coming back._

_It was very hard but almost six months on, I'm getting there. It's just still sort of ..raw..you know? Even though it's been, wow, almost six months. I guess he just made that big an impact on my life, it's irreversible. Bloody sod. Thankfully I have Mary. She's wonderful. I don't deserve her but I'm glad to have her, she's cured much of my loneliness._

_Because I was so lonely. Still am, when she's not here and I just stare at the empty chair in my flat. It's not even his old one. Stupid really._

_Hope you don't mind listening to a silly git's ramblings. It was nice to hear from you, please write again._

_John._

* * *

Since seeing Lestrade, John kept a constant look out for graffiti, posters, flyers etc, about his friend or Moriarty. Occasionally he'd find one and take a photo of it, or even, in the case of flyers and posters, the objects themselves. Mary had suggested a scrapbook and together they were filling it with these photos, newspaper clippings etc. He had no idea what to do with it but it was another thing to help deal with his grief.

He actually came up with a very silly idea the other day. A book. To write up his cases in a book, in a longer format then for a blog. Like a story, except there weren't stories. Stupid idea really, but it wouldn't leave his head. He could even see the title: The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson. ...Nah.

* * *

Back at Scotland Yard, Lestrade and his team were slowly finishing reviewing all the cases and evidence. They were up to his fall from grace. The small group rarely spoke to one another, the mood sombre. Lestrade had been keeping Mycroft up to date on the situation so he was slightly surprised to see him in the office.

"Mycroft...what can we do for you?"

Anderson and Sally lifted their heads, quickly moving as far away as possible from the tall, elegant figure. "His phone.. do you have it?" Lestrade looked confused for a moment, but nodded. "Why do you ask?" Mycroft placed his umbrella handle over his arm, retrieving his little book from the hidden pocket in his coat. "A thought occurred to me last night, after your update. My brother may have left a message on his phone. It would be the sort of thing he would do, I refuse to believe he only "left" one with Doctor Watson. Could please get your men to examine the phone? If possible. Just to be sure. I do not want you to miss anything that might be important."

Lestrade had to admit, he felt a little stupid about not considering that possibility. Sherlock had been attached to his phone, it would make sense for him to possible leave a note inside it. But this was a Holmes...the only Holmes left, of course he'd see the things Greg might miss. "Of course, I'll get someone on it right away." He looked over at Sally who quickly ran off, Anderson took one look at Mycroft and followed after her.

Greg hid a smile, sitting down on a table. "Hardly speak anymore those two. Least not when I'm in the room. Think they're scared I'll call you and get them fired. They're not bad people, just.. misguided I suppose." Mycroft sat down next to the Inspector. "I have examined their careers. You are correct, they were only doing what they thought right. However that does not mean I will ever forgive them." Lestrade nodded, folding his arms and glancing at his feet.

"How are you holding up? I've been speaking to John but he hasn't said anything about you."

"I have hardly seen him myself. He does not wish to talk to me. Understandable. I would not want to talk to me either. But I am doing well, in my own way. Thankfully my employers and colleagues know what I can do and see no reason for my brother to not have the same abilities. If you can not find enough evidence to clear his name, I will use my..influence to do so some how instead. I do not want to world thinking he was a fraud. He does not deserve it. However annoying he might have been." Lestrade gave a quite chuckle, Mycroft joined in but then stood suddenly.

"I better go, please should you find anything, let me know. He was my brother, I would have hoped he said goodbye, even if he did not forgive me. See you soon Greg"

"Later Mycroft"..I hope we find something to. For your sake and his.

* * *

_To John Watson,_

_Thank you for replying. I am very grateful. I was not sure if you would do so or not so it was a pleasant surprise. I meant to reply two days ago but run into a little trouble. I lost my passport. I was mugged. Not a pleasant experience. I now have a black eye and split lip but thankfully the local authorities caught the thieves and returned to me my passport._

_Your account on your grief makes me very sad. I still do have hope to cling to. You do not. But I am pleased you are not alone anymore. It is nice to have someone you can thoroughly rely on to keep you company and care for you. I only wish I was so lucky. Hopefully I will see my friend again one day. Where he is I do not know. I only hope he is safe and not in too much trouble._

_Right now I am in Corsica. It is very beautiful and I am looking forward to see the sights and taking photos and sketches for my own blog. From Corsica I am travelling back through Italy and then to Spain._

_I heard about a movement on your blog. I am not sure I understand what you mean but it sounds interesting. People in London supporting your friend. How wonderful. It must be hard for you, too see so many people saying terrible things, so this must please you greatly._

_Thank you again for replying. I hope to hear from you soon._

_Your friend,_

_Normund._


	28. Message In A Bottle

_Dear Normund,_

_Thanks for your reply! I am very sorry to hear that you have been hurt. I hope you're ok and I'm glad you got back your passport. Wouldn't want to lose that! I hope things are easier for you from now on. Corsica sounds lovely, I'd love to do some travelling myself some day. See the sights. Maybe I will, with Mary. No fun on your own, least it wouldn't be for me._

_Yeah having Mary in my life has been wonderful. She's beautiful, smart, happy, very stubborn and sometimes just a little bossy. But she has been exactly what I needed. Someone adventuress, not easily afraid. Someone not afraid to tell me how it is, not afraid to poke me in the back and say 'chin up John Watson! You can get through this!'. She's so supportive. She must really love me. I hope so any way. I truly love her._

_I'm sad to hear you don't have anyone in your life like that. You'll find someone. Whether they be a lover or a very close friend. Though, that might be who you are missing? Stupid me. You'll find them. I'm sure. Is that partly why you are travelling? If its ok for me to ask. It's what I would have done if Sherlock had just gone missing instead of just..going._

_Yes the movements been great. Really chuffed about it. Even thinking of doing my own small part. Nothing illegal mind you. Then again... I wouldn't mind defacing one of the newspaper buildings, see how they like it. But keep that under your hat. Not really sure if I'll join in or not. Perhaps I should just keep out of it. Though I am cheering them on from the sidelines. Fighting my war indeed._

_Hope to hear from you again soon._

_Your friend,_

_John._

* * *

_Something happened today. Something big. I..I can't really tell you just now. Soon though, I promise. I'm just.. still pretty choked up about it. But it's good news in a way and terrible news in another. I have mixed feelings. I just want to let you know. I promise in my next post to explain everything._

* * *

"Darling? Phone call for you!"

John lifted himself from his chair, placing his book to the side and taking the phone from Mary. "Hello?" For a moment there was silence of the other end. "John?" The voice sounded unsure. "Yeah?..Is that you Greg?"

"John, listen. We need you to come down to the station..right now."

"Why whats happened?"

"Look.. we found something, you need to come here. Please, right away and you can't ask why."

"Why not? Look tell me whats going on, please"

"Im sorry, I can;t, just come now"

He hung up, leaving John very confused. "What is it John?" He shook his head, grabbing his jacket. "I don't know. I have to go down to Scotland Yard, he said they found something." Mary grabbed her own long periwinkle coat. "Then I'm coming with you" She smiled an linked arms with John. "Maybe they found something to prove his innocence"

"I certainly hope so"

* * *

Lestrade wasn't sure what to say when he saw John and Mary stride into the conference room, and neither did John or Mary. The room didn't have many occupants. Lestrade, Sally and Anderson of course. Their chief glared over at John, constantly, however, glancing back at the tall figure behind him. Mycroft. Anthea was by his side. A few other officers, Dimmock included stood watching, one closing and locking the door behind John. They all stood crowded around a small table on which a computer technician sat, holding a damaged phone.

Sherlock's phone.

"Whats going on?" John inquired as he and Mary made their way towards the table. "They've found something John" Replied Mycroft, the first words he spoken to the doctor in a long time. "What do you mean? On his phone?" Lestrade nodded and stared at the technician. "Looks like a recorded message. Not tampered with, it's timestamped too. Not long before he um.. took the plunge." The chief looked doubtful. "You can tell if it was tampered with?" The tech nodded. "Considering it was taken off the roof after he jumped and it's been sitting in an evidence locker, where there are cameras, then yes Im sure".

John shook his head in confusion. "What do you mean recorded message? Are you saying.. he left a message on his phone? But why?.. I mean I spoke to him...why didn't he mention it?" The others all shrugged their shoulders. "I guess will find out in a moment"

"You mean you haven't listened to it already?" The inspector shook his head. "Not yet, it was locked, took us a little while to get in and we thought you and Mycroft should be here to hear it first." John raised his eyebrows. "Damn decent of you"

"Yes.." Lestrade looked back to the technician. "Are you ready?" The man nodded. "Just say when." Everyone seemed to take a deep breath.

"Now"

* * *

There was silence.. and then Sherlock's voice.

_If you are hearing this, then I am dead. This is really for the polices benefit anyway, should they be intelligent enough to look at my phone. No doubt my brother will have come up with the idea if the Yard does not._

_I suppose this is goodbye really. How dull, saying goodbye to a phone. I would have maybe said goodbye in person but I do not know whats going to happen. I could survive, I could not. Clearly if you are listening to this then I haven't. Which in that case is unfortunate._

_Timeline wise, I am at St Barts, making my way to the roof. I have just arranged for John to leave, I need to keep him out of Moriarty's clutches. He should be safe at Baker Street as we speak._

John sat down on one of the chairs. Sherlock had arrange for him to leave, he'd been right. And he'd done it to keep John safe because Moriarty was on his way. He regretted his words to Sherlock about being a machine even more so now then he did before. He wasn't a machine, friends protect people and Sherlock had been trying to protect John.

_He's on the roof, we've arranged to meet to discuss our.."Final Problem" as he calls it. So as I stand in front of the door, I say goodbye to who ever is listening. If it's Lestrade then I ought to say you are, in my opinion the finest officer at the Yard. I can say this because I'm dead and don't have any qualms about admitting it. If it wasn't for you I never might have become a consulting detective. You helped me from the gutters and cleaned me up. For that I thank you. Goodbye..Greg._

Shocked to hear his name, Lestrade had looked up to stare at the phone, his eyes glistening over with tears at the kind and heartfelt words. But Sherlock.. this was my fault. This was all my fault. I didn't have to listen to Sally and Anderson, but that doubt, that small seed of doubt wouldn't leave me head. If I had just stopped for a minute I would have remembered what you were like all those years ago...

The messaged continued.

_If it's Mycroft then you are a complete git and I don't forgive you. But I don't hate you either. You were mother, father and brother to me. There is little I can say that you don't already know. If I die, then I am sorry to leave you all alone. Look after everyone for me, if Moriarty survives, take him down, not that I need to tell you that. Goodbye dear brother._

Even though Mycroft knew his brother was alive, he was incredibly touched by his words. Sherlock in this message clearly didn't know if he would live or die but had chosen to say such things regardless. It was true, all they had was each other and now, at least to everyone else, Mycroft was all alone. Sherlock had mentioned leaving a message but it was Mycroft who decided to plant that seed of thought into Lestrade's head. Better now than later. Just in case.

_And if it is John who discovers this message, I should apologise to you the most. I changed your life. But you changed mine. I don;t think I can imagine not having you by my side, encouraging me, being there for me, joining in my adventures as you like to call them and being my only friend. You are my brother, my closest brother. I really am not sure what I can say to make what may be about to happen any easier on you. Please forgive me. Please don't hate me. And please, don;t ever, ever forget me. You will forever remain my closest friend. And believe me to be, very sincerely yours , Sherlock Holmes. Goodbye John._

John wiped his eyes, his head in his hands. Mary's arm wrapped around his shoulder. Oh Sherlock. Why. Why did you do this? Why didn't you let me help...wait a minute. Moriarty was on the roof..had he killed Sherlock? In the message Sherlock didn't sound like he had gone to the roof to kill himself. Perhaps there was more to the message.

_And if anyone else finds this..please deliver these and the next message for me...I suppose its possible Anderson or Sally could find this too. I suppose some of you will blame yourself. Don't be ridiculous. It's no ones fault but Moriarty's. And mine perhaps... Sally and Anderson I address this message to you. You started this, you got me arrested, in a way it is your fault. But...from a moral standpoint you were probably doing your job. I don't forgive you but I don't..hate you I suppose._

_You were a pawn in Jim's great game. Anderson, you aren;t really all that bad a forensic scientist, you are however an idiot. And Sally...I guess if I think about it...I do respect you. I always have even if it took living with John to realise it. I never appreciated being called a Freak. I want you to know that I do have feelings and I have been called a freak since I was a little boy and had you perhaps refrained from that we might have even become.. almost friends. But that;s unimportant now..._

Sally sniffed. She took out a handkerchief, wiping her cheeks. Anderson stared at the floor. She didn't deserve that. He'd killed himself because of her. All the evidence so far had proven him innocent. He really had been a brilliant man and with her help he had been driven to his death. But he still respected her. She called him Freak, a name that had haunted him from childhood. That made her feel sick and yet he didn't hate her. Because of John. He had brought out the human side of Sherlock, the side right now, they were all hearing. Because he was going to die.

* * *

The message seemed to go silent for a moment and then suddenly there was the sound of music. Stayin' Alive. "Hang on.. that's his ring tone. Thats Moriarty's ring tone!" Lestrade lowered his hand, gesturing for John to be silent. "Sorry... I'll shut up"

 _"Woah, here we are at last, you and me Sherlock and our problem..the final problem."_  .

 _"Staying alive..it's so boring, isn't it? It's just..staying.."_  He sounded slightly distressed, almost upset.

_"All my life I've been searching for distractions. And you were the best distraction and now I don't even have you. Because I've beaten you."_

_"And you know what? In the end it was easy. It was easy. And now I have to go back to playing with the ordinary people. And it turns out you're ordinary, just like all of them"_

_"Oh well"_ His voice went back to the playful nature that John remembered. " _Did you almost start to wonder if I was real? Did I nearly get ya?"_

 _"Richard. Brooke"_  Finally Sherlock's voice had returned.

_"Nobody seems to get the joke. But you do."_

_"Of course. "_

_"Atta boy"_

_"Richard Brooke in german is Reichenbach. The case that made my name"_ There were several gasps around the room, mostly from the members of the Yard.

_"Just trying to have some fun."_

_"Goood you got that too"_

_"Beats like digits. Every beat is a one, every rest is a zero. Binary code, thats why all those assassins tried to save my life. It was hidden on me, inside my head. A few simple lines of computer code, that could break into any system. "_

_"Told all my clients. Last one to Sherlock is a sissy"_

_"Yes but now that its up here, I can use it to alter all the records. I can kill Rich Brooke and bring back Jim Moriarty. "_

There was silence and then Jim's upset voice returned.  _"No no no no no no. It's too easy. This is too easy. There is no key.. DOOFUS!"_ The shout making several people jump. The return of the psychotic mad man.

" _Those digits are meaningless, they're utterly meaningless. You don't really think, a couple of lines of computer code are going to crash the world around our ears? I'm disappointed. I'm disappointed in you, ordinary Sherlock"_

_"But the rhythm.."_

_"Partition Number One! Thank you, Johann Sebastian Bach"_

_"Then how did you-"_

_"How did I break into the bank, to the tower, to the prison? Daylight robbery! All it takes is some willing participants. I knew you'd fall for it. Thats your weakness. You always want everything to be clever."_  Lestrade's eyes widened, as did the chief's. Of course, so that was how he did it. It was all so simple. Even though Mycroft already knew this he still couldn't help but marvel at the genius behind Jim's plans.

" _Now shall we finish the game? One final act. Glad you chose a tall building. Nice way to do it."_

" _Do it? Do..do what?"_ Sherlock sounded confused. _"Oh yes of course.. my suicide. "_  John took a sudden intake of breath. It hadn't been planned. It really hadn't. Sherlock...why?

_"Genius detective proved to be a fraud. I read about it in the papers so it must be true. I love newspapers. Fairytales, and pretty Grimm ones too"_

They could hear Sherlock gasping over the phone. Distressed, worried, confused and most of all, scared. This was no act. This was a real conversation.

_"I can still prove that you created an entirely false identity. "_

_"Oh just kill yourself. Its a lot less effort. "_

Sherlock gasped again for air.

 _"Go on..for me. Pleeeeeeeease?"_  It sounded to Lestrade that Sherlock had suddenly grabbed Jim by his clothes.

_"You're insane"_

_"You're just getting that now?"_

_"Woah ah ah..ok let me give you a little extra incentive..your friends will die if you don't"_

"Oh God.." Lestrade exclaimed, turning to look at John. Shit. Oh Sherlock, shit. You didn't...that was why you jumped? Shit!

_"John"_

_"Not just John, everyone"_

_"Mrs Hudson"_

_"Everyone"_

_"Lestrade."_  Again, Lestrade was shocked to hear his name. Sherlock had considered him a friend. Not his handler, but his friend. Oh kid, I wish I had known. You trusted me and I let you down. I'm so sorry. You died to save me..oh mate. Oh Sherlock...

_"Three bullets, three gunmen, three victims. Theres no stopping them now. Unless my people see you jump."_

Sherlock...

_"You can have me arrested. you can torture me, you can do anything you like with me. But nothing is going to prevent them from pulling the trigger. Your only three friends in the world will die. Unless..."_

_"Unless I kill myself, complete your story. "_

_"You got to admit, thats sexier"_

_"And I die in disgrace. "_  Oh mate... Sherlock sounded so sad.. so without hope.

_"Well of course, thats the point of this. Oh, you got an audience now. Off you pop. Go on. I told you how this ends. Your death is the only thing thats going to call off the killers. Im certainly not going to do it. "_

They could hear Sherlock gasping again, panic setting in.

_"Can you give me one moment please, one moment of privacy..please?"_

_"Of course"_

Sherlock started to take deep breaths, considering what he was about to do. But then suddenly he began to laugh.

_"What? "_

He didn't answer Moriarty, he simply kept laughing.

 _"What is it? What did I miss?"_  Just for a second, it seemed as if Sherlock had gotten the upper hand and that Moriarty had missed something vital.

_"You're not going to do it? So the killers can be called off then, theres a recall code, or word or a number. I don't have to die if I've got you."_

_"Oooh "_  Jim's turn to chuckle.

_"You think you can make me stop the order, you think you can make me do that?"_

_"Yes, so do you"_

_"Sherlock, your big brother and all the kings horses couldn't make me do a thing I didn't want to. "_

_"Yes but I'm not my brother, remember? I am you. Prepared to do anything, prepared to burn, prepared to do what ordinary people won't do. You want me to shake hands with you in Hell, I shall not disappoint you. "_

_"Noo..you talk big..noo, you're ordinary. You're ordinary, you're on the side of the angels. "_

_"Oh I may be on the side of the angels but don't think for one second that I am one of them"_

_Silence._

_"No..you're not, I see, you're not ordinary, no, you're me."_ Another laugh.

_"You're me!..Thank you, Sherlock Holmes. Thank you. Bless you. As long as Im alive you can save your friends. You've got a way out. Well, good luck with that"_

_"No!"_

There was the sudden sound of a gun shot and a body falling to the floor. Moriarty was dead.. he'd shot himself. Sherlock gasped for air, now really beginning to panic. There was no way out now, if he didn;t jump, his friends would die.

_"Noo.."_

_"I have to..I have to...I'm sorry. Forgive me."_

The message ended.

* * *

The room remained entirely silent. No one spoke for the longest time, and there was not a dry eye in the entire room. John was in Mary's arms. Sally rested her head against Anderson's shoulders, both looking completely dejected and guilty. Sally was crying. The Chief had taken off his glasses, rubbing his eyes. Mycroft was looking everywhere but at someone's face. Anthea was wiping her eyes with a handkerchief. Lestrade had his head in his hands.

John continued to sob against Mary's chest. His best friend had not committed suicide. He had died to save him and two other people. He had died a hero. All that grief that had begun to disappear came back in full force as the shocking realisation that Sherlock Holmes had not killed himself was revealed. He was happy he hadn't killed himself but the knowledge that it was because of John that he had died didn't make the pain any better. It only made it worse.

Lestrade took a deep breath, wiping his eyes, blinking several times. He had once said that Sherlock Holmes was a great man and now Lestrade knew, he had been a good one too. If only it hadn't been like this. Sherlock had died to save his life. Never was the inspector more proud of the kid but he only wished it didn't have to be this way. The knowledge that he hadn;t died because of that doubt, because of the media, because Lestrade had failed to trust him and believe in him, eased some of his pain but now he would know that the only reason he, John and Mrs Hudson were still alive today was that Sherlock Holmes had leapt off a tall building to save them.

And Mycroft was never more proud of his little brother than in that moment.


	29. 29

_My best friend, Sherlock Holmes did not kill himself._

_He died a hero, saving his friends from a bullet to the head. Yesterday we found evidence on his phone. He recorded a message of his last conversation from James Moriarty. If Sherlock did not jump, then myself, Mrs Hudson and Inspector Lestrade would be killed. He died to save us. He sacrificed his life, so that we would live._

_He was not a fraud or a fake and now we have the final proof. I am so, bloody proud of my best friend but now the grief is back in full force. I have to grieve for him all over again. He didn't kill himself. He died to save us. His friends. Moriarty killed him._

_I will never forget what he did for me, I will live for both of us, Sherlock._

_Thank you my friend._

* * *

It didn't take long for the recorded message to make the papers, John suspected a certain government official had a hand in that. All the evidence proved once and for all, that Sherlock Holmes was an innocent man. If only it had come to light before he died. Six months was how long it took. Six bloody months later, Sherlock Holmes' name was cleared. It was in all the papers, some ignoring their earlier words, some apologising, other's claimed they believed in him all along.

The movement exploded. There were messages everywhere. A few days after the initial revealing of the evidence to the press, it died down. But every so often a new message would pop up.

John had taken a week off work. He meant what he said. He had to grieve all over again. So here he was, sitting agains Sherlock's grave once again.

* * *

"They did it, Sherlock.. they finally did it. They proved you were innocent. I wish it hadn't taken this long. You deserved better. You really did." He ran his fingers through his hair, staring at the photo of Sherlock in the deerstalker, that he held in his hands. A small smile spread across his face. "You really hated that hat didn't you. I dunno, it kinda suited you a bit. Odd, different, thats you. It really is a Sherlock Holmes hat now." John held the photo tightly, staring at the clearly annoyed man in the photo. He was smiling but he had that death glare in his eyes.

"I know.. Sherlock. You didn't commit suicide. You sacrificed yourself, to save us. To save me. I'm...I'm thankful but I just wish you hadn't needed to do it. Maybe if I had stayed, maybe if I had come back sooner... I still can't get over the fact that I was so horrible to you before you died. When you were only like that to keep me safe. Im guessing you said those things before you died because your were trying to spare me the pain of your death, but I also guess you weren't sure if anyone would ever hear your messages. You probably guessed your brother would try and clear your name but until then, you didn't want mine dragged into the mud. You were thinking of me..right before you died. Before you saved my life."

"I am so proud of you. But I am so angry now. At myself, at Moriarty. What happened to him, by the way? The police say they had found the blood and the gun but never a body? I guess, in all the confusion, one of his men took it away, to give it a fucking dignified burial."

"Lestrade can't get over the fact that you not only considered him a friend but that you died to save him too. Mrs Hudson was distraught over the news. Wouldn;t speak to me for three days. She blames herself. We all do. Nothing new there. But I know it made her happy to know you didn't commit suicide...Anderson and Sally haven't returned to work yet. Guess they feel really bad. So does Lestrade but in the end he still believed in you. I would expect maybe those two idiots might turn up here at some point if they haven't already. " John rubbed his eyes.

"God, you never tell me anything do you? You could have let me stay. I know you made me leave to save me, but I am the soldier, I could have bloody done something. At least I'm happy in the knowledge that I didn't miss anything, that you weren't suicidal. Cause that really broke me, you know that right? Of course you do, you know everything. I will still continue to miss you, mourn you, cry for you, laugh for you. I don't think I'll ever stop. It's really silly. How much I miss you. Even now, six months on. God, thats half a year. You've been dead for half a year. Do you know that, I wonder, where ever you are..do you know how long you've been gone? Maybe you do. Maybe you don't I dunno."

"The support I and you, have been receiving from the blog and the public has been incredible. I told you about the movement didnt I? Fucking incredible. And the followers of my blog have been just as amazing. I posted one of our old cases. Do you remember the league of gingers?" John gave a sad smile. "I remember dyeing your hair, god you hated that. The look on your face...priceless. I posted some photos of you too, to try and lighten to mood, all it did for me was break my heart again. Everything still reminds me how much I hate the fact you're gone. At least I still have Mary. Without her, I don't know where I'd be."

John sighed and stood up, stretching his leg and picking up his cane. "I was thinking...and I probably won't do it, of writing up all our cases, the ones on the blog, the ones still in my head, and making them into a book. Does that sound like a stupid idea? They'd be longer of course, I wrote down notes after each one, plus my memory is pretty good. I dunno, Mary likes it. You would think it stupid. Not everyone reads my blog and I think a lot of people would like to read your adventures. Mycroft has even given me his permission, so long as I change a few names. Who knows, Sherlock, maybe one day everyone will know your name. Least I can do, for saving my life my friend. I'm keeping your phone.. hope thats ok, Mycroft got the screen fixed for me. I'll come back soon, Sherlock." He tapped the grave and walked off.

* * *

_To John Watson,_

_Thank you again for replying. I am quite well now. Again I apologise for the lateness of my reply. I can get caught up in my explorations, sometimes I am unable to post for a week! As you can plainly see. I am now in Spain. Another beautiful country._

_I have been reading your blog. Your friend did not commit suicide? This is great news, in a way. He must have cared about you very much to sacrifice himself for you and his friends. You are lucky to have had someone in your life who had such devotion to his own friends. I hope the way he died is in some way a consolation to you._

_I am also pleased to see that the papers have cleared his name. After six months it is indeed about time. I wonder what he would think of all this? But I do not know. You do. I still miss my friend, every day it looks more and more less likely that I will never see him again. We seem to be drifting further and further apart. Sometimes I sit and wonder that if I ever saw him again.. would he know me? Would I have changed, would he have changed? Would we recognise each other. I even wonder if he would still want to be my friend._

_I wonder if I could have done something, to prevent us parting. I feel I did everything I could and yet he is still gone. I can never tell him, but I miss him every day. I am not one for expressing my feelings well, but I do hope, somewhere, wherever he is, he understands._

_I wonder if you feel the same, John Watson, about your detective. Forgive me, for straying into the emotional, where the pain for you is still so raw. I sound, fine, but in reality I sometimes feel if I myself am the one who is lost. Not he. I hope I will see him again someday, but I hope that he will always consider me his friend, even after everything that happened, that he would still forgive me._

_Your norwegian friend,_

_Normund Sigerson._


	30. 30

Sherlock wasn't exactly pleased that Mycroft had mentioned the phone at all. He had revealed that little please of information purely in the event that he either died or for when he returned. He wanted to make sure the phone would stay at the Yard. However Mycroft was sick of seeing his brothers name dragged in the mud and knew how much it would mean to Sherlock's friends to know part of the truth. He also didn't appreciate people he worked with mentioning it again and again.

So he'd told Lestrade and the phone conversation had been released. And Mycroft had been so proud. Sherlock had been sketchy on the details of that day, so now Mycroft knew. He hoped one day his brother would forgive him and hoped wherever he was in Europe that he was safe.

* * *

_Dear Normund,_

_Sorry this has taken a week to respond too. I just, had no idea what to write. Im sure your friend would never hate you, I'm sure he would forgive you. I don't know what happened before he went missing but its obvious you care about him very much and to me that says you are a good man. I would forgive you. Im sure he will too._

_Yes, I am so happy to finally know the truth but the truth hurts. Yes, Sherlock didn't commit suicide, he sacrificed himself. He's still gone. He's still dead, nothing will change that. I'm still missing a part of myself. I still can't go back to his bloody flat. And I should. Mrs Hudson is very lonely at the moment, even though she knows the truth too. The flat is like..I just can't go in there without crying. He's everywhere in its walls, furniture etc._

_I'm sorry you feel so lost, Normund. I hope you find your friend, soon I really do. I wish I could help in some way. If you ever come to England look me up. We could get a pint or something, I don't know._

_Hope you are enjoying Spain, the photos are lovely by the way. I don't understand half your posts but still, keep doing what you're doing. It's wonderful._

_John_

* * *

"So, care to fill me in about this one?" Irene linked her arm through Sherlock's, who turned and gave her a bemused look before returning to his phone. "Leader of a drug cartal. Was helped by Moriarty, letting him export his products into several countries. Scope him and his hideout as discretely as you can and return to the hotel in one hour." He checked his watch and Irene removed her arm.

"Sounds like fun. I'll go get changed"

"What's wrong with what you're wearing?"

"Go deduce something somewhere, darling and leave this to me"

* * *

An hour later and Irene was back with a smile on her lips. "Tonight at twelve o'clock. He'll be alone. Your brother's men should have no trouble in catching his gang. Be careful and take a gun. Wear black." Smiling Sherlock nodded and headed to his suitcase, removing a black outfit and wool cap. Irene picked up a black suitcase and placed it on the bed. Irene hid a smile as she picked up the cap and pulled it over his red curls.

They did have separate rooms but Irene had wasted no time in figuring out the key code. Unlocking it, Irene pulled out several items. "These came for you today, lucky boy. Theres are quite high tech." She placed a pair of black sunglasses over his eyes. "Why would I wear sunglasses at night?" Irene smirked, picking uo the next item, a new silencer for his gun. "They're infer red ones silly". She also fixed his new earpiece to his face. "There.. perfect. Now off you pop. Call me if you need me."

Sherlock gave her a confused glance and left via the balcony.

* * *

When he did not return three hours later, Irene began to grow concerned. He had not called, or spoken through the earpiece. Throwing on a warm coat, she stole out into the night towards the hideout, a disused warehouse by the river. It was so dark that even her torch helped little.

She was afraid to cry out his name or any alias for fear both of them would be found. As she tip-toed through the building she was aware how utterly silent it was and her worry for Sherlock increased. She turned, thinking she had heard movement from behind her and was shocked to see a body lying on the floor behind some disused wooden crates.

It was the leader, with a bullet through his chest. Dead. But where was Sherlock? She crept past the dead body and moved around the crates to spot another prone form on the ground, blood quickly pooling around his leg. He'd been shot. The ear piece lay smashed on the floor, a small head wound spreading blood across the ground.

Irene quickly knelt beside his head, feeling for a pulse. Relived to find one she removed the scarf from the dead man's corpse and wrapped it tightly around his leg. With difficulty she pulled him up and wrapped one arm around her shoulder and half dragged the unconscious man from the building. Once outside she wasted little time in calling for help over their secured frequency.

Irene rested the detective's body on the ground outside and tapped his cheeks. But he wouldn't wake up. Oh Sherlock, what trouble did you get yourself into now? She continued to tap his cheeks and attempt to wake him until Mycroft's men arrived and took over from her. Hours later he would awaken, confused, disorientated and with a limp that would last three weeks.

* * *

_To John Watson,_

_Forgive me again for taking so long to reply. I was taking photos the other day and did not look where I was going. As a result I have broken my leg. However I assure you I am quite fine now. I have to use crutches for the rest of the week, and then perhaps a cane. I am not looking forward to either. Fortunately Iduna has joined me for part of my trip. She is currently looking after to me. I fear she enjoys the job to well._

_She is good at her job but insists on flirting with me. I am not interested, not really my area. However I feel she does it to simply tease me. Still she is the only friend I have right now. And it is not so bad to be waited on hand and foot. I am by no means a lazy man but I have been so busy lately my body needs the rest. As a medical man I am sure you would agree._

_Still, my feet are restless, my body itches for another adventure. As soon as I am able to travel I am heading to Germany. Iduna wishes to come also. I suppose I am unable to stop her. Perhaps I can get her to take some photographs as well. Get her to make herself useful. What do you think?_

_I am sorry you still feel sad. I suppose that will not go away anytime soon. Thank you though. I hope my friend will forgive me too, if I see him again._

_Normund._


	31. 31

_Dear Normund,_

_You do seem to be getting yourself in a little trouble lately, don't you? Please take care. I don't know you very well but I understand that you can get caught up in an adventure and take risks. God knows I have, Sherlock was certainly very reckless at times. I'd hate for you to get badly hurt. Keep your leg elevated and just rest. Hopefully its not a bad break._

_I'm glad you have someone with you! Travelling is not fun alone in my opinion, even if she does flirt a lot with you. She's probably just teasing. Yes, make her useful if you must, I hope she enjoys herself too. I sympathise with your want to continue on your adventure. God knows I'd love an adventure right about now. I just need a break, from everything in London. Thinking of travelling with Mary to Brighton for a week or so._

_I've been thinking, of writing up some of the cases into a book. Theres many I never posted because they weren't very significant, I forgot or just didn't bother. I don't know, do you think it's a stupid idea?_

_Hope you get better soon,_

_John._

* * *

Sherlock was restless. Actually that was probably an understatement. He constantly shifted about on the couch, his long legs stretched out, one resting on a pile of cushions. His dressing gown hung off one shoulder as he played games on his new iPhone. God injures were so boring. Irene had been flirting about with prospective suspects, they'd just arrived in Germany. Good, don't want her flirting with me. Sherlock had received a strong worded lecture from his brother over the phone just the night before. He'd listened, respond with a few rude words and hung up. Another average phone call conversation between the Holmes brothers.

Getting rapidly bored by the utterly dull games on his iPhone, Sherlock resumed reviewing the criminal's files. German business man, Von Bork, espionage agent working for Moriarty's organisation. Irene was no doubt at his place now. Hopefully she'd find something useful other than "what he likes", honestly if he had to hear one more detailed account of what she got up to with these people, he was going to scream. He didn't care, it didn't interest him in the least. She only did it to make him uncomfortable and to shut him up. Two can play at that game.

* * *

"Lockie, dear?"

"Sherlock, I told you no one calls me Lockie, no one" Except Mycroft.

"But it's so adorable" She leaned down, tapping a finger against his lips and sitting on the edge of the couch. "Oh he was so boring. Rambled on and on about his business, his money, love of sailing. If he's a good spy it's because no one would suspect someone so dull, Sherlock." The detective pushed her off the couch, handing her Bork's file. "Wait.. did you say sailing?" Irene's eyes narrowed. "No."

"You don't even know what I'm going to say"

"No undercover work"

"But it's so simple! I disguise myself as Captain Basil, you lure him to the boat, and viola! One caught criminal agent." Irene sighed. It would work, honestly this man was wrapped around her little finger. "Basil? What sort of name is Basil?" Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"I like Basil. What sort of name is Irene?"

* * *

One costume change, false nose and beard later and Sherlock was disguised as Captain Basil, of the good ship, Detektiv. Silly name, but it wasn't really his boat so what did that matter? Irene did what she did best and lured the unsuspecting man to the boat and to the waiting arm's of Mycroft's men. It was ridiculously easy and Sherlock couldn't help but wonder if it was too easy. But his leg protested once again and Sherlock hopped off back to the hotel.

* * *

_Does anyone think I ought to write up all the cases as a book? Like a published one? Just a thought. Please reply with your thoughts on the matter. Thank you! Will be away for a week, going to Brighton with Mary._

_See you soon!_

* * *

_To John,_

_Thank you for your concern, I do have it elevated right now and am taking plenty of rest, much to my own displeasure. I haven't yet had a chance to see the sights of Germany yet, but Iduna has taken some splendid photographs already, you can see them on the blog, she was kind enough to upload them for me._

_I do not know Brighton, but I hope you enjoy yourself there. It is nice to travel, even if it is just a little way aways. London must hold many bad memories for you right now. Good decision._

_As for your book idea, I have published a few things of my own, small things, but I don't have a broad knowledge on how to go about it. It is entirely up to you should you want to write this up. If it helps with your grief then I would do so, I am sure there is much you have missed out on your blog, I would be eager to hear you tell the rest._

_Normund_

* * *

A/N: Von Bork: German spy from His Last Bow

Captain Basil: One of Holmes' aliases


	32. 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for shortness.

_Dear Normund,_

_I am pleased to hear you are taking good care of yourself. I haven't yet left for Brighton though I am packing. We're leaving in a few days. Going out tonight for a nice dinner at a nearby restaurant._

_It definitely will be good to get out of London for awhile, as my mate Greg says, 'It's nice to get London out of your lungs' every so often. I haven't really been out since the case back in Dartmoor. And that was hardly a holiday._

_I think I will go ahead with the book idea, let everyone know the full story. It's just sad it's such a short and tragic one. I wish I had had more time with him. He was becoming more human, our friendship was getting stronger by the day, oh well, no use brining up sad memories._

_Stay safe mate._

_John._

* * *

Mary looked lovely, the restaurant was expensive, the food delicious, frankly in John's mind, the night couldn't get any better. Their relationship was flying in leaps and bounds, on the wings of love. God that did sound a little corny, but where Mary was concerned, John didn't really care if it was or not. He loved her. Absolutely loved her. And the best thing? She loved him back just as much.

"This was a lovely idea John and the circus this afternoon, I haven't been since I was a child! Loved it, every minute" John grinned, exactly the reaction he was hoping for.

"Old friend suggested it too me and I haven't been to a proper one myself in a long time either, thought it was something different. I'm glad you enjoyed it too!" The doctor sipped his wine, drinking in Mary's smile, her hair, her eyes, her everything. How could one woman be so perfect? It was unnatural. John loved it.

Mary smiled again, finishing up her meal and watched as John ordered desert for the both of them. "Mmm, ice-cream, my we are spending big aren't we?" She teased placing a small dab of strawberry ice-cream on his nose and watched as he went adorably cross-eyed. "Well, I like to splurge" John chuckled, wiping the cream off his nose. The rest of the evening went smoothly along and soon they left the restaurant arm in arm looking for a taxi.

* * *

"Wanna see a movie? Or has the day been too big for you and would rather go, "sleep it off"?" John nudged her, a cheeky grin splashed across his face. "Hmm, well a movie does sound tempting, anything in mind?". John shrugged, he honestly had no idea what was on, but perhaps they could find a nice adventure film they both might in enjoy or a scary movie so she could scream and jump into his arms. Now there was a plan.

John waved a hand, trying to catch a cabbie's attention when something else caught his. A familiar face sitting in the back seat of a car. Where did he know that face from? Old colegue? No..old friend? No...oh! OH! Of course, Mycroft! He'd shown John a bunch of photos, and this man had been in one of them. An assasian! But why was he back in London? John's feet itched to follow.

"Mary?...Do you trust me?"

"Of course"

"..Run!"

* * *

The two of them pelted down the streets after the elegant black vehicle, running down twisted alleys, up fire escapes, down stairs, through open shops. It was just like old times and several glances at Mary told John she was enjoying every minute of it. John stopped in the middle of a road, just as the car turned a corner and seemingly vanished. Swearing John threw his cane to the ground.

"Damn it!"

"We have the number plate, maybe we can track it?"

"I'll tell Lestrade. Sorry, that was utterly ridiculous"

"It was extremely ridiculous, completely dangerous but definitely fun. Who was he anyway?"

"Just someone, an assassin. I should tell Mycroft too, though he probably already knows. Always does."

The two of them laughed and John bent down and picked up his discarded cane. "John.. you ran the whole way here without using it..". Smiling John nodded but noted the pain had returned. Just for a moment it had left him. Perhaps it would leave again soon. "Yeah, it does that."

John turned and began walking over towards Mary who was waiting on the pavement. A car skidded around the corner. And everything happened at once. Wheel's screeching, bright lights, someone screaming, and explosion of pain and then silence.

"JOHN!"


	33. 33

_To John,_

_Enjoy your holiday. Tell Mary also, if you please. Yes I suspect getting 'London our of your lungs' will no doubt do you a world of good. My leg is a little better by the way. No crutches now, seems it was not a bad break. I have to use a cane. It's very frustrating._

_If you feel that is what is best, then go ahead with your book. I am not sure what will come of it but once done I would love for you to forward me a copy of possible. Where I will be at that time I do not know._

_Yes, it is so sad that you did not get to spend much time with your friend. I know how you feel exactly. Unfortunately these things happen, good things are struck down before their time._

_I shall write to you soon, hope you are well._

_Normund_

* * *

Mary sat quietly at John's bedside, stroking his hair. They had allowed her to stay despite not being a family member. Why, she did not know, but she was very grateful. John's sister had been notified but was unable to travel down at this time, so Mary was his only comforter.

John lay lifeless on the white sheets, his head bandaged, his body hooked up to a few machines. He'd lost a great deal of blood. There was no doubt in Mary's mind that this had been deliberate. The car did not even stop, it had simply driven away as if it had hit nothing. Except it had. It had hit John Watson. Her John Watson. Mary's heart had stopped. He had fallen to the ground, his arm's spread out, his body bleeding.

And now he was fighting for his life. He was in a coma, two limps broken, ribs broken and who knows what else. They weren't even sure if he'd make it or not. Mary choked back a sob, trying to be brave but the tears kept coming, flooding down her cheeks as she held the uninjured hand of the man she loved and prayed he would come back to her.

* * *

_There's been an accident...to be more precise, John has been in an accident -MH_

_Is it serious? - SH_

_…..Very. I have made sure he will receive the finest care available. I will update you if anything changes -MH_

_No. I'm coming back now -SH_

_You can't. You will be recognised! Do not endanger your mission Sherlock! John is in the best of hands -MH_

_I don't care, John is more important. I'm coming home. -SH_

* * *

A day later and there was still no change. Mary came to hate the incessant beeping but it was her lifeline, as long as it beeped, John was still alive. Every hour she feared it might stop, but it kept on, playing his heartbeat for all to hear. Mary wiped her eyes, clasping her lover's hand tightly in her own. Was this how he felt? When he'd lost his best friend?

God, how did he manage? John was still alive and yet her heart was already breaking. The thought that he may never wake up or that he would simply slip away shook her to the core. They hadn't known each other for long but the impact he had made on her life was incredible. She could not imagine life without him.

"John...I don't know if you can hear me. But please, come back. Just..just for me. Just stop this. Please...wake up" Her voice broke and she cried into his sheets.

* * *

Mary woke a few hours later to find a doctor bandaging some of John's wounds. He wasn't the same doctor as before, but she supposed the other man might was busy with other patients. This one had short blonde hair, a moustache and glasses. He was very very tall. And quite slender. If she hadn't been so distraught she would have found him to be a bit of a cutie. But that was the last thing on her mind right now.

"I'm sorry, I must have dozed off. A..Are you his new doctor?"

"No, I am simply filling in for Dr. Peterson. He was unavailable"

"Oh...how is John?..Please tell me he's going to be ok" Mary's voice broke once more and she covered her mouth, her eyes filling up with tears. The doctor looked down at his patient, whose torso he was delicately wrapping up. The level of concern in his eyes surprised Mary but she pushed it aside. The man must really care about his patients.

"I wish I could tell you it will all be ok. But I am a practical man, we both know it is not. However, should he pull out of this coma soon I am convinced he will make a full recovery. " The doctor stood, brushing back a stray blonde strand.

"After all he is a military man, no stranger to injuries. And he is a doctor. Yes, I am confidently he will pull through" The man gave Mary a tiny smile before fixing up his shirt and turning to leave.

"I'm sorry... I didn't catch your name?" He paused as if he was thinking carefully about his answer.

"House. Doctor House"

It was only after he had left did Mary wonder how he knew he was a doctor and a soldier. No one had told Doctor Peterson or the hospital...

* * *

Doctor House walked at a quick pace down the hallways and corridors of St Barts until he reached the back of the building and went outside. A black car was waiting for him. He climbed inside and it drove off, leaving the hospital behind.

"How did it go?"

The man didn't respond. He removed his glasses, placing them in a case beside him. Then off came the moustache and false nose. He placed those in another small case. The white coat was peeled off and folded on the seat beside him.

"Sherlock..."

"How do you think, Mycroft?"

His brother cleared his throat. "I told you, he is getting the best care possible" Sherlock leaned back, his foot tapping, his hands fidgeting. "That's not good enough. This never should have happened. He was supposed to be safe. You promised me he would be safe! And now he's lying in a hospital bed. Possibly dying, currently in a coma. I can't even sit by his bedside and...I don't know what people do. So no Mycroft, it did not go well!" The fidgeting continued, Sherlock kept looking outside as the buildings went by. Mycroft sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"He went after the car, by the time we realised who was in it, it was too late, it had turned around and ...well, you know the rest" Sherlock glared at his older sibling. Strictly speaking it was not Mycroft's fault. Sherlock in fact blamed his absence as a factor in John's accident. If Sherlock had been there this never would have happened. Sherlock had died so John would be safe. Not for him to end up in hospital.

Sherlock desperately wanted to go to his friend. He wasn't sure what he would do. He missed him so much but he could never admit it. A horrible thought had suddenly occurred to him. What if John died? What if he died never knowing his best friend still lived? Or worse, what if he just never woke up? Sherlock felt his throat and chest constrict with emotion. A reaction he had not been expecting. His body was physically crying out for him to run to his friend.

Oh John, you would supposed to stay out of danger. I didn't leap off that roof for you to get hit by a car. You idiot! What were you thinking running after him? This is all my fault. Please don't die. Please wake up. Even if I have to don a hundred disguises to speak at your side to wake you. Just don't leave me. I won't be able to handle it. You're stronger than me John Watson. You have handled my death well.

I won't be able to handle yours.


	34. 34

_"Please will you do this for me?"_

_"Do what?"_

_"This phone call...um..it's my note. Thats what people do, don't they? Leave a note"_

_"Leave a note when?"_

_"Goodbye John"_

_"No...don't"_

_"SHERLOCK!"_

_"Sher.."_

_John ran, faster than he ever thought possible. This had all happened before. But something was different this time. There was no cyclist, no onlookers, no paramedics. The place was deserted. The only living thing was John._

_Sherlock's body lay curled on the pavement, one leg tucked beneath him, his hand splayed out as if reaching for help, for John. The doctor took it, feeling for a pulse, he always felt for a pulse in his dreams but he never found one, this time was no exception._

_Holding back a sob, John gently pushed Sherlock's shoulder until the man was lying on his back. His hair was so thick with blood that it stuck to the pavement, the blood soaking into John's pants as he knelt beside the lifeless shell that once held the soul of his best friend._

_His eyes were still open. So dead, so empty. John reached over and closed them gently. Like he was sleeping. If it wasn't for the blood then John would have happily believed he was. John placed a hand over his eyes, his body shaking as he cried and cried, tears mingling with blood upon the cold pavement._

_Taking a deep breath, he wrapped his arms around his friend and pulled him close, resting the detective's dark head against his chest. John kept his arm around Sherlock's shoulder, his cold, dead hand laying against John's shirt. John wasn't sure how long he sat there, rocking, cradling the corpse that was once Sherlock Holmes._

_Why, Sherlock? Why did you have to die? Why did you leave me?_

_Where you go I will follow._

_..._

_Take me with you._

* * *

Lestrade tapped away on his computer, sipping is coffee occasionally, bemoaning how mundane life had been lately. Cases kept piling up, unable to be solved, someone's private joke up there no doubt. For the thousandth time that month, Lestrade wished Sherlock was still here. But the man was dead, he'd sacrificed his own life to save the lives of others, he died a hero. Greg was so very proud. But he continued to miss him every day.

"Sir?"

Lestrade looked up into Sally's concerned face. "He's back Sir, Mr Holmes" She left the room quickly, still refusing to be in the same room with Mycroft Holmes if she could help it. Lestrade stood, reaching out to shake Mycroft's hand, who simply stared at it and closed the door, sitting in the chair opposite. Lestrade hadn't seen the other man since the phone message. He hoped he was doing alright.

"What can I do for you?"

Mycroft took out a file, opening it and placing it on Greg's desk. "This man is an assassin, believed to be one of the one's targeting either you, John or Mrs Hudson. He returned to London a few days ago." Greg took the file, reading it over. "Whats that got to do with me though?" Mycroft took a deep breath. "His car was involved in a hit and run a couple of days ago. I need you to find out all you can about the car and to interview the witness."

Something wasn't right, why wouldn't Mycroft put his own men onto this? Why was he even involved?. "What aren't you telling me?". Mycroft stood, preparing to leave. "The victim of the hit and run was one Doctor John Watson. Mycroft left the office, leaving Lestrade with his head in his hands.

Shit, not you too John. First Sherlock, now you. You better be alright mate, don't you dare follow that idiot detective.

* * *

_"Sherlock"_

_"What?"_

_"Oh, now you're speaking to me"_

_"I was resting"_

_"You were sleeping"_

_"Resting my eyes"_

_John chuckled. "You were exhausted Sherlock, I stood in front of you and said you had a case three times and you didn't even open an eyelid."_

_"What case?"_

_"There wasn't one, that was just to see if you were sleeping or not, you big git"_

_He turned to stare at the pyjama clad form stretched out on the couch. "I was not exhausted John." Another disbelieving laugh. "Would it kill you to admit that I was right for a change? Just once?" Sherlock turned to regard John with a curious look. "Probably". John rolled his eyes. "Of course it would, you always have to be right, always have to have the last word."_

_"Of course."_

* * *

Mycroft had kindly found a way to get Mary out of the room for a short while, Sherlock for once was very grateful for his brother's presence. Sherlock pulled a chair close to the bed, taking off the cap that covered his now short, curly red hair. His quick eyes studied every uncovered inch of the body on the bed. John was so pale, so...lifeless. It scared Sherlock. John Watson had been in a coma for almost a week now.

"John...I hope you can hear me, though you will need to believe this was all a dream when you wake up. Because you have to wake up John. You just have too. Please. I..you're my best friend John, you're my only friend. At least, my only close friend. You..I need you to stay. Don't die John, don't slip quietly into the night." Sherlock wiped his nose, leaning closer to John.

"I 'died' for you John. I would do it again if it meant you would live. I would happily exchange places with you right now. Because this is all my fault. You were supposed to stay safe until my return. I know you ran after that man because it was what we used to do. Run all over London, chasing down adventures and murderers alike. The first case we solved together, we ran across London after a murderous cabbie. This is my fault. I hope you'll forgive me"

Sherlock ran his finger's through his close cropped hair, checking his watch. "John, I need you to wake up. Please, will you do this for me? Just open your eyes, please, just for me, just stop this. I don't believe in miracles John, but if you woke up right now? That would do me just fine."

* * *

" _John?"_

_"Sherlock"_

_"Why are you still here?"_

_John looked up at the chair opposite, staring into the ice coloured eyes of Sherlock Holmes. "What do you mean? Sherlock, I live here" A small smile flitted across the detective's face. "Thats not what I meant. You have to go back. None of this is real. You know this. You just refuse to accept it." John looked confused. "Of course it's real, have you been experimenting on yourself again, because I swear Sherlock, after last tim-"_

_"No. Listen to me John Watson. This is not real. I am not here and you are not in 221b Baker Street."_

_"Ok, Sherlock you're scaring me"_

_Sherlock leaned back in his chair. Blood began to trickle down his face, his colour draining with it, his lips turning blue. "No.. no, stop this. Sherlock.. stop that right n-now" Sherlock stood, walked over to John and knelt by the chair, taking John's hands in his and placing them over his cold, blood drenched face._

_"I died for you John. I would do it again if it meant you would live. I would happily exchange places with you right now" John tried to pull his hands away but Sherlock held them tightly in place. "I'm dead John, accept it and wake up"_

_"I don't understand"_

_"John, I need you to wake up. Please, will you do this for me? Just open your eyes, please, just for me, just stop this. I don't believe in miracles John, but if you woke up right now? That would do me just fine."_

_"Sherlock...I won't see you again. This.. was so real. Please don't make me leave"_

_"John, I have always been there, watching over you. You just haven't observed. But I want you to be happy, safe. That's why you need to say goodbye and wake up. Please do this for me. I am not asking much."_

_"I..I..don't want to go"_

_"I will always be..here"_

_He tapped John's chest with one long finger and pushed. The flat shattered into a thousand pieces and John felt himself falling._

* * *

"John..John?"

"Sherlock!"

Mary's eyes teared up once more. John was tossing on the bed, the machines beeping frantically. He was waking up and the poor man had been dreaming of his lost friend. A nurse grabbed her shoulders and steered her out of the room so the doctor's could do their jobs.

Mary sat in a chair outside his room, her head resting in her hands, hoping, praying John would wake up. "Is he going to be alright?" Mary heard a frantic voice ask the nurse who had just steered her outside. The man had curly ginger hair and looked worried beneath his black wrap around sunglasses. He must be a friend of John's.

The nurse assured him that things were looking up and to come back at another time when they knew more. The man walked backwards, running long fingers through copper hair and looked over at Mary for a brief second before turning around and leaving the corridor.

Mary couldn't help but feel she had seen this man before. But from where? She shook her head, focussing on John and not this familiar stranger. Sherlock turned to stare at her once more, wondering what John saw in her. It didn't surprise him that the only person able to wake John Watson was Sherlock Holmes.

Once he left the building he took out his phone, placing the white cap over his red curls. "Tell me more about the assassin. What did you say his name was again?"

"Sebastian Moran"


	35. 35

"Sherlock..."

"No darling, It's Mary"

She wiped away a tear, holding his hand. He was awake, he was going to be ok, because he was awake, because he'd come back to her. John's eyes flitted about the room as if searching for his lost friend. Oh John, you only dreamed about him. Mary knew that John's heart had a hole and that she could never fill it. Only one person could do that.

Mary knew that no matter how much she loved John and how much he loved her, that hole would always be there. For John had lost his soul mate. And right now his soul was crying out for the sibling that could no longer answer.

But despite all this, she would stand by him because she loved him. So it was all she could do not to cry with him as he muttered over and over that it wasn't a dream, it had been real. She wished to the high heavens that it had been true, it didn't doubt for one second that Sherlock had played a hand in bringing back John Watson to reality.

* * *

"There, I just received a phone call, he's awake. Now, you need to go back Sherlock. Irene is still waiting in Germany." Sherlock shook his head just to be disagreeable, staring out the window. "I will, I've already arranged transportation." Mycroft sighed in relief. "Good, I promise to update you on John's condition as often as possible."

Sherlock turned, his coat sweeping backwards. "You better, dear brother. And from now on, take better care of him than you would me. He's what matters in all this." And with that Sherlock turned and left the room, his mind filled with plans and ideas for his next move.

* * *

"Sir?" Sherlock turned around to see the elderly butler mumble forward, his hands holding a gilded tray holding a letter. "I have to see to something, might I trouble you to hand this to your brother"

Sherlock gave him a fake smile. "Of course Charles, I'll do just that" The butler nodded and turned away. Sherlock turned it over in his hands. Bohemian. How interesting. He looked both ways and quickly opened the envelope. Inside of course wa a letter, written in red with a fountain pen.

_Dearest Mycroft,_

_I know your charge is no longer your brother, who unfortunately lies six feet beneath the earth, in fact your new charge is Doctor Watson. Poor injured Doctor Watson. You know, my dear, that you ought to take better care of the dear man. Things haven't been easy for him, what with watching his best friend die, mourning him and then being hit by a car._

_Which wasn't supposed to happen, but we couldn't have him follow us now could we? Don't worry, my associate has been strongly reprimanded. No beer and smokes for a week! He's already suffering. Serves him right._

_Listen Mycroft, I know your men have been infiltrating and taking down my empire, if it doesn't stop the dear Johnny Boy will suffer harsher consequences as will his darling companion. This is a friendly warning, aren't a good boy? So do take heed, I'd hate for little John to follow darling Lockie to the grave. Wouldn't you?_

_So wonderful to speak to you again._

_M_

Sherlock's fist closed around the letter, his eyes narrowed becoming almost animalistic. Biting his lip he stormed out of the building. But then stopped. Oh, oh of course. Oh that's brilliant. Sorry Mycroft, change of plans.

* * *

"No he was here, I heard him Mary, it was real"

Mary held his hand tightly, using her purple handkerchief to wipe his face. "Honey, I've been here the whole time, It was just a dream. I'm so sorry." John shook his sore head. No it had to be real. If it wasn't that meant that last fleeting hope was gone. His dreams had been so real, so real John had not wished to return to the land of the living. But Sherlock had made him, that's why John had held a tiny thread of hope that he still lived. That it really had been his voice.

But Mary was adamant that it had been a dream and she wouldn't lie, not about something like this. No, John's injury must have screwed up his head. Sherlock was dead. He told himself repeatedly. It was just a dream, and then a nightmare. Even in his dreams Sherlock was looking after him, deducing what was real and what wasn't. Thanks mate, thank you for giving me this second chance.

* * *

"Another sir?"

"Please"

The air hostess nodded, pouring the man another glass of the rare red liquid. She smiled as his mouth widened, he was good looking, but it was like looking into the face of a tiger. He winked at her and took the glass from her hands. "First day?" She gave him a nervous smile and nodded.

"Don't sweat it, we don't bite, do we Seb?"

The man opposite rolled his eyes and went back to cleaning..oh god was that a gun? "Don't mind Seb, he's in a bad mood, he's been very naughty." The white suited man gave a mock look of shock. The hostess gave another wavering smile, curtsied and quickly left.

"What was her problem? I was only trying to be nice" Pouted the man, sipping his wine. "You scared her, clearly. You trying to be nice is like dog trying to be a cat.". Jim shook his head.

"I'm adorable, I wouldn't scare anyone. Do you think I'm scary Sebby?". The taller man looked up from cleaning his gun. "Terrifying". Jim pouted once more, his eyes growing wide and threatening to tear up.

"That doesn't work on me"

"You're just sulking because I forbade you your smokes and booze Sebby dear."

"Sebastian, not Sebby, defintly not dear"

"My my my we are in a bad mood aren't we?"

"How long til we reach Berlin anyway?"

Moriarty shrugged, not his prblem. "Could ask the pilot. Does it matter? Why don;t we just have a nice little chat? Like.. ordinary people" Sebastian laughed. "You hate ordinary people. Why you put up with me, I don't know." He blew on the gun, watching it shine. "You're not ordinary Sebby, you're special."

"Oh I'm so flattered. Do you mind, taking your hand off my knee please?" Jim grinned and gripped it tightly. Sebastian pointed the gun at his head, both knowing he would never pull the trigger. Jim pretended to put his hands up. "Don't hurt me Mr Bad Man, I'm innocent!"

"Right, innocent and pigs might fly"

"Well, I suppose I could arrange for that to happen"

"Jim Moriarty, consulting pig flyer?"

"Why do you have to tease me so?"

"Because it's so easy, because you let me get away with it. Because, Jimbo, you like it"

"I wish you didn't know me so well"

"Believe me, I wish I didn't either."

Sebastian put his gun away in it's case and leaned back with his own glass, of juice, Jim had actually forbidden beer or smokes for a week. It wasn't like he meant to actually seriously injure the Watson bloke. Just maim a little.

"Sebby?"

"Sebastian" Replied the assassin.

"Jim" Gleefully responded the psychopath.

"What do you want?"

"What did you want to be when you were little?"

Jim payed the pilot no attention as he left the cockpit for the bathroom, leaving the co-pilot in charge for a moment. Sebstian shrugged. "I think I wanted to be in the army, which I was. But.. at one point I wanted to be a fireman." Jim grinned. "Really? Fireman Seb. We should get you a fire helmet! Maybe steal a fire truck for your birthday! I can blow up a building for you to put out, wouldn't that be fun?"

"Oh that would be a riot. What about you? What did you want to be when you were little?"

"Powerful"

"Achieved that didn't you?"

"Oh in spades, my dear Sebastian"

The pilot fixed up his trousers, walking past them, one eyebrow quirked up in amusement. Jim barely noticed. "Don't mind us, just musing on our childhoods. Having  _ordinary_  conversations." The pilot nodded and then paused. "I heard, much better than what I wanted to be as a child". Jim turned, unable to see the pilots face fully beneath his hat.

"Oh, what did you want to be when you were little?"

"Me? I wanted to be an aeroplane"


	36. 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before you say anything, the plane is not that high, they are slowing down and it's a Sherlock Holmes Fanfiction. Thankyou. Its time to play, spot the crossover. A game that can be played several times throughout this fic.

Jim chuckled darkly, quite amused by the pilot's response. "Sorry, didn't catch your name. What was it?" The pilot himself gave a small smile and headed back into the cockpit. "Martin". Jim made a note of it and nodded. "Before you go, how long to Berlin?" Inquired the sniper. "About half an hour, we'll be there soon, don't worry" The ginger pilot closed the door quietly behind him.

"Funny guy" Murmured Jim, who stood and grabbed the bottle of vintage wine and brought it over to his seat. "You're not going to drink the whole thing are you?". Jim grinned wolfishly. "Why not? You can't have any Sebby dear." The sniper glared and began to pelt the psychopath with crisps.

* * *

"Are we there yet?"

"No"

"How about now?"

"No"

"Now?"

"No"

"Are we there now?"

"For the last time Jim we are not there yet! God you are such a child."

"But you still love me"

"Of course I don't love you. Don't be ridiculous and don't start that pouting again!" Jim's face only got sadder and more pathetic looking. Sebastian glared and looked away ignoring him. Ignoring him as he sat down back next to him. Ignoring the incessant poking of his cheek, the shaking of his shoulders, his employers childish comments, the hand sneaking down towards his...! "Oi!" Sebastian grabbed Jim's hand before it reached it's destination.

"Now you're paying attention to me!"

"I hate you"

"No you don't"

"Oh please get a room you two"

The pilot was back for some odd reason. Jim had little desire to speak to such an ordinary boring person. But maybe if he had he wouldn't have missed something so important. "We have a room, not that it's any of your business."

"Oh but dear Jim, of course it's my business..."

* * *

"John...the doctor's say you should make a full recovery, I thought, perhaps when you are able to leave that you would like to stay with me? I know we were planning to get a flat together but in light of whats happened I thought we should wait till you are better"

Mary was so supportive, John loved her for it. "I..I'd like that, thank you Mary, but I don't want to be a bother. I'm sure I'll manage." Mary hid a small smile. John was still the proud soldier.

"John, you know you won't be able too. You could never be a bother. You are the least bothersome person I've ever met. Please, let me help you." John turned to look at her, their eyes meeting. "If.. you're sure you don't mind" Mary smiled warmly and leaned over to kiss him gently on those beautiful lips of his.

"It would be my pleasure darling."

* * *

"Not dead then?"

"No, I knew what you were planning, a bit obvious really. Oh, I'm sorry, we haven't met, where are my manners? Probably buried in my grave." Sebastian stood, his hands searching for his gun. "Calm down Seb, it's alright, he's unarmed. Besides, I want to hear what he has to say. Oh yes, Lockie, this is Sebby. Sebby, Lockie."

"Charmed I'm sure"

"Don't be jealous Seb darling."

Sherlock removed the pilot's hat covering his ginger locks and ran his hand through them. "Thought I'd pop by, can't stay for long, been a bit busy lately." Jim smiled, gesturing for Sherlock to sit down. He had to admit, he had not seen this coming, he was both pleased and annoyed. Sherlock was destroying everything he'd worked so hard for, but he was so delightfully interesting that Jim didn't wish to destroy the detective himself just yet.

Sherlock declined the offer moving around the plane as it began to slow. "We've met actually, you're the man who drugged me. Nice try by the way. But of course thats not why I'm here" He smiled darkly. Jim grinned back, his eyes burning holes into the pilot uniform. "You're here about Johnny Boy. How is he?"

"Fine, no thanks to you. Just a warning, don't harm him again or you will seriously regret it." Jim stood as the detective edged towards the exit door. "Or what? Admit it, you have no plans. No one knows I'm alive but you and those that matter." Sherlock simply smiled back. "Not really observant as you once were, are you?" Jim looked confused. "What do you mean?"

"Well I was sure you would have realised I just took the only parachute! Laterz!" He opened the exit door and jumped, arms out as if he was flying.

Jim growled. "Sherlock Holmes! I promise you we will meet again!"


	37. 37

_Journeying across Europe does have it's perks, I get to see so many beautiful places that other's do not, I get to share in customs and rituals that many may have never heard of before. On the other hand it has it's downfalls, a few of which I have already suffered. Honestly, I expected for my first injury to occur some what earlier in my travels, so breaking my leg after loosing my footing was not a complete surprise. Now I must ensure to take better care of why I am placing my feet in the future, I assure you all however that I am fine and recovering well, thank you for the concern._

* * *

It had been two weeks since John woke up and he was slowly recovering. He would require some rehab but the doctors were very confident that he would make a full recovery. He was even to be allowed home today. John was relieved. Although he was a doctor, he despised being a patient. It was an all too familiar situation. But now he was going home, to Mary's flat. His lovely girlfriend had promised to take care of him. It might be nice to be waited on hand and foot by someone so lovely.

"Ready darling?"

"Ready Mary, though I wish I didn't have to use this ruddy wheelchair, but I suppose it's just to be on the safe side. Thank god for crutches."

Mary gave him a sympathetic smile, poor dear. Look at you, leg broken, arm sprained, covered in bruises. He must be in a lot of pain but you wouldn't know it too look at him. So extraordinary. Mary made sure he was safely in the wheelchair before pushing out of the room that had been his home for about three weeks.

* * *

The ride home was quiet but plesently so. The last thing John felt like doing right now was talking. Mary helped him out of the car and onto the crutches, walking beside him every step of the way towards the building.

Mary's flat was beautiful in an empty sort of way. It was uncluttered but instead of looking unlived in it looked modern, designer, pretty. John was no design expert but it was a fast change to the pig sty that was his flat. Though that was partly because it reminded him of his real home, 221b Baker Street.

Mary helped him to lie down on the couch and headed to the kitchen to put the kettle on. They both needed tea. God did John need tea. Hospital tea was rubbish. John craved the real thing. "The kettles on, are you hungry?" John turned and sighed happily. "You're an angel Mary. Just some biscuits would be nice thanks." She smiled back. "Coming right up!"

She returned with his hospital mug, full of steaming, glorious British tea and a small plate of biscuits. "I'm going to fix up the guest room for you, it might be more comfortable for you to sleep alone while you're recovering but my room is just next door so don't ever hesitate to call out if you need me, ok?" John sipped his tea and cupped her face with his uninjured hand.

"What would I ever do without you"

* * *

_I decided to give you all another update, I have finally arrived in Berlin and am still recovering from my broken leg, which is happily on the mend. Am going to be heading towards the Bavarian Mountains once the local doctor's say I'm fit to go hiking again, hopefully that is soon, I am terribly bored._

* * *

Sherlock finished typing and closed the tab, sipping his own warm mug of tea. Irene wrapped her arms around his shoulders, tiredly resting her head on one shoulder. Sherlock sighed and gently unwrapped her arms and lay the now asleep dominatrix on the couch. Even asleep she liked to bother him. How annoying.

It had been three weeks since he'd last updated Sigerson's blog and hoped no one noticed. It had been two weeks since he dove out a plan towards the city below to escape from Messrs Moriarty and Moran. He'd long suspected they'd survived and now he had proof. But frankly Jim's magpie embellished stationary and the private plane named Magpie, one arriving and one leaving on the same day? Bit of an obvious coincidence.

Mycroft had been informed of course. He was less than happy that Sherlock had not only stolen his mail, that Jim was in fact alive and that Sherlock had actually gone and visited them. He was incredibly furious that Sherlock had then jumped out of the bloody plane! Well what was he supposed to do? Wait until they landed and hoped they wouldn't shoot him where he stood? Not likely brother dear!

From now on he needed to lay low, maintain the blog and continue his missions. From Germany they would go to one or two other European countries then Tibet, China, Japan and then America. Most should not take long, but now that Jim was wise they'd have to be extra careful and extra clever.

Good thing Sherlock enjoyed a challenge.


	38. 38

_Spain was quite lovely as Im sure all who tuned into my live streaming earlier would agree, certainly the photos speak for themselves. Hot though, very hot at least while I was there ha ha. Everyone was so kind both before and after I had my little fall, still eager to show me around, treat me to rare delicacies or tell me fantastic stories. Remind me to write about it some day, I'm sure you'd all love to hear them._

_Lately I've been stuck inside, as I mentioned before and Iduna has since followed me and she is looking after me as I recover. Obviously this has it's perks but Iduna as I've mentioned before is a flirt, she only does it to annoy me but I can't stay angry at her for long._

_Considering how well she has cared for me I suppose I should be thanking her but we are both bad at expressing such things, she knows how I feel. Knowing that I shall just attempt to be extra nice to her for the time being, for now, I have to run (read limp), we are heading to Bavaria soon, speak to you all soon!_

* * *

_To John Watson,_

_I have not heard from you in some time and have grown concerned. You are a careful man so I hope that you have not found yourself in some kind of trouble. I also hope that I have not offended you in some way. If I have I am deeply sorry._

_Please respond soon._

_Normund._

* * *

_Sorry guys! I know I haven't updated in awhile but I have a bloody good reason. I don't know if you've heard about it or not so in the case that you haven't I'll just tell you. A few weeks ago I was deliberately hit by a car. Thats right. A car. I was in a coma for a week and only just recently been released from hospital._

_I'm doing ok, Mary's been wonderful as always, thanks for all the support from those in the know. Hopefully they'll catch the bastard that did this._

_The two of us have started writing up the first book. Thats right folks Im going to be a published author. Will post more about that later, need to rest. Talk to you all soon!_

* * *

_Dear Normund,_

_I am so sorry, but I don't know if you've been reading my blog lately but I was recently involved in a hit and run and I'm still recovering. So please don't worry, none of this has anything to do with you. You certainly haven't offended me at all!_

_I actually like chatting to you, everyone else I talk to usually knows me in real life and feel obliged to walk around egg shells with me or feel guilty for even looking at me. Other's just don't know what to say, but thats slowly changing. You take me at face value and are so kind and I'm really thankful to have found someone who understands how I feel._

_So thanks Normund. Really, when my first book is published I plan to send you the one of the first books._

_Your friend,_

_John._

* * *

John and Mary had indeed been hard at work during John's recuperation, typing up his first story, A Study In Pink. It was going to be longer than most of the others, mainly due to the fact that there was a lot more to write about.

Returning home, meeting Sherlock, the body, the flat, the chase, their first adventure, the cabbie and their first encounter with Moriarty. Plus everything that happened in-between and after. A short novel yes but novel nonetheless.

Then he planned to write up the smaller cases and perhaps make Hounds of Baskerville into a novel too. He had yet to write up new cases on his blog, he perhaps would write up two more. Whether or not he would write up their final case remained to be seen, but when he did, he hoped it would bring him some closure.

Mary as always was so wonderful and brilliant. She'd found an old typewriter in her wardrobe and the two of them would take it in turns typing up his story. It was almost finished and more than one publisher was eager to receive his manuscript. What with Sherlock's name being cleared, the true version of accounts in the paper, everyone wanted to know more about Sherlock Holmes.

John was pleased and proud and could not wait to finish typing it up, there wasn't much left, just the last few pages and the dedication. He already knew what to write for that.

' _This book is dedicated to greatest man I have ever known. He was my best friend and without him my life would not have been half as enjoyable. Where ever you are, this book is for you, whether you like it or not. Knowing you, you wouldn't._

_Before you I was so alone and I owe you so much. So I dedicate this and all future books to you, Sherlock Holmes.'_

* * *

Sebastian enjoyed the blissful silence of the immaculate flat for as long as possible. It was one of the few times of the day where he could relax without a whine in his ear or having to comply with some sort of order. Not that he didn't mind following orders, its just that some of them could be completely ridiculous or be asked at inappropriate times. That and his boss had no concept of personal space.

Yawning the sniper strolled tiredly to the kitchen and put the kettle on. What should he have for breakfast? Perhaps he ought to make pancakes for once. While the kettle boiled the sniper reached down and opened a drawer, pulling out a frying pan. As he proceeded to take out the ingredients and make his breakfast he became so absorbed in his task he failed to realise that his employer had awoke and was stumbling into the living room.

Jim rubbed his eyes, staggering into the room in his royal purple dressing gown, JM embalzoned in gold on the fabric. He could smell something delicious and followed the smell into the kitchen, coming to a stop behind Sebastian. He leaned forward, resting his head on Seb's shoulder, closing his eyes.

"I'm hungry"

"Get your own breakfest, this is mine"

"I don't wanna."

"Tough"

"Pleeeease Sebby?"

"No"

"You know what will happen if you don't. Remember last time I made breakfest?"

"You.. god you nearly burned the house down. I swear you could make cornflakes and they'd explode"

Jim grinned. Sebastian knew he was playing him but it wasn't worth the risk. "Fine you can have some of my pancakes but you're doing the washing up." Jim pouted and went back into the living room, collapsing face down on the couch.

"Oh stop sulking. Don't you have a hostage to kidnap today?"

"Oh yeah! Thank you for reminding me. You always know how to cheer me up Sebby."

"Unfortunately. Also what are you doing about Holmes?"

Jim waved a hand. "Nothing just yet, he's actually doing me a favour with some people. Been meaning to get rid of them for ages. No for now I'll just watch and wait, if it gets worse I'll arrange for him to be kidnapped or something. Now hurry up with breakfest! Chop chop!"

"I'll chop you"


	39. 39

_First book is finished, sending it to the publisher today. Wish me luck! Second will be done soon, man I'm just whipping these out! Mary is of course a great help._

_On another note my injuries are getting a lot better, rehab sucks but I can see just how far I've come. Everyone is really pleased with my progress. Gotta run now, Lestrade's coming over for drinks. See ya!_

* * *

"How are you dear? It's been awhile since I visited. I'm afraid I haven't been able to for awhile. Oh don't worry I'm fine, my health is better than ever, no.. it's just ever since I heard the truth from John, I haven't had to courage to visit" Mrs Hudson put a finger to her mouth, holding back her tears with an iron will.

"I was pleased to find out you hadn't committed suicide because that had really broken my heart. But you died to save me and John and that nice DI. You shouldn't have needed to do that Sherlock. You have a far greater heart than I thought." The tears threatened to fall again.

"I still miss you so much,the flat is so quiet now, I hate it darling. Even though I hated the shouting and the gun shots. The body parts in the fridge, the music at odd hours of the morning...it's not the same without them."

"Oh darling, why did you have to go? You were so young! I know I never really told you while you were alive but I really did think of you as my son. I know going up your parents were too busy to pay attention to you and give you the love you deserved. I always hoped that I filled that role for you, just a little. You will always be my son Sherlock, even though you're gone." She gave up holding back her tears, letting them fall like raindrops down her cheeks.

"John's doing well, I mean besides the accident. He's got a lovely lady in his life now. I met her when I visited them the other day. She's so pretty and smart Sherlock. I bet you would be jealous. She and John have been writing a book. They promised to send me a copy once it's printed, I can't wait to show everyone."

"I have to go now dear I just wanted to let you know I haven't forgotten about you and that I am so very proud of you, my darling boy. I hope you are at peace, where ever you are"

* * *

"Well here I am again mate. Sorry for taking so long to visit you again. Been busy trying to clear your name. Which hasn't been easy, had to go back a few years in cases and work our way back to your...last one" Lestrade rubbed his nose, stuffing his hand back into his coat pocket.

"Which we did, in a way you helped. Didn't realise we had the perfect piece of proof in our own evidence locker. Bloody hell Sherlock, you can never do things like a normal person can you? You had to bloody go and sacrifice yourself for your friends. One of them me. D-did you really think of me as your friend Sherlock? Have to admit I did not see that coming"

"I know I know, that probably doesn't surprise you, surprised me. I'm touched Sherlock, honoured even. You don't make friends...didn't make friends easily, but when you did boy were you willing to do anything for them. I'm proud kid, I really am. You really became a good man, it's just a pity you had to die in order to do it. Thats not what any of us wanted."

"Do you watch us Sherlock? I mean I'm not sure about the afterlife and everything, but.. if there is one, do you ever...observe us? Bet you get bored sometimes. The Yard pretty much blames any unsolved cases on you know. Sherlock Holmes sent that our way. He's laughing at us from beyond the grave. Are you? Bet you are."

"Have you met Mary? John's probably brought her down here a few times now. Blimey she's lovely. John's a very lucky man. Very lucky. John's doing a lot better now, I've been to visit him a few times since he was hit. Bloody idiot scared the hell out of us. I was so worried he'd just follow you. Thank god he didn't. Can't loose the both of you. Not in the same year too."

"Better go now, the terrible two are waiting by the car. Nearly quit the pair of them, but they stayed on. Would you believe I actually heard them defending you at the Yard the other day. Sodding git got what he deserved. I laughed and laughed in my office at the absurdity of the whole scene. Anyway, see ya around mate"

* * *

_Hurray, finally been given the all clear by the doctors to head up to the mountains! Only two more days and we'll be off, then from there we will head about to Switzerland for a few days and then probably Sweden. Living it up in Berlin til then, Iduna is packing for me, I promise to take as many pictures for you all as I possibly can._

_My plan for Bavaria is too visit some of the local farms if possible, and theres a castle I'd love to visit as well. Evidently it has quite the history, I have heard some very interesting tales about it. Spooky stories too and mysteries, I do love a good mystery._

_Shall speak to you all soon!_

* * *

"I thought I better just, pop over and say something before we leave. Anderson doesn't, he doesn't speak a lot anymore. Look, we all heard the recording. And I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. This is all my fault" Sally placed her hand over her eyes and sobbed, her shoulders shaking. Anderson quickly wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close.

"You died to save them. You weren't selfish, you..I was so wrong about you. You did have a heart and it was so big. And I'm sorry for calling you freak all those times. The memories that must have stirred up inside, I hope you forgive me. Please.. I don't deserve it. I caused this. If I had never said anything...but I can't change the past. I wish I could, god I wish I could" She wiped her eyes.

"I once told John, that one day we'd all be standing around a body and it would be Sherlock Holmes that put it there...you idiot I never wanted it to be your own" She lay a small unsolved rubix cube beside the headstone and hugged Anderson. Together they walked out of the graveyard, their 'believeinsherlock' badges shining in the sun.


	40. 40

"Is there a reason why we're here?"

"Photo's for the blog"

"Photos...of this. You do realise this could give you away"

"Not likely it's just the sort of thing Normund would blog about."

"If you're sure, don't blame me if our enemies become wise and realise humble Normund Sigerson, is actually the great Sherlock Holmes"

"Do you think maybe you could keep your voice down. And it's my enemies, not yours."

"Our enemies. I work with you so they're mine too. Now hurry up and take the damn photos, it's freezing out here"

"Not my fault you like to dress as scantily as possible"

Irene sighed, rubbing her arms. Sherlock turned and gave a sigh of his own, stripping off the warm jacket and placing it over Irene's bare shoulders. There that should stop her claiming. He turned back and finished taking his photos of the Reichenbach Falls.

* * *

It was here, it was finally here! John grabbed his crutches and limped to the front door, grinning from ear to ear as he took the rectangular parcel from the postman. It was really here! His first book! He and Mary had written it in no time flat and it had been published just as fast. In his hands right now was the first ever book written by John Watson.

He sat down, eager to open it. Mary was at work. He couldn't wait to show her. She'd be just as chuffed as he was. He peeled off the brown paper and opened the small box that lay inside. There nestled in the cardboard was a small scarlet book with the words, 'A Study In Pink By John H. Watson' emblazoned on the cover.

John couldn't believe it. He turned it over several times in his hands. It was really real. He'd actually written a book. Him, John Watson. Brilliant! Now now, John, don't get a big head, you don't even know if anyone will read it. He hoped they did, but he honestly didn't care all that much. Wait till Mary got home, their home, their flat. Oh just wait! Together tonight, they would sit on the couch by the fire and read it.

He wondered what Sherlock would think.

* * *

"He'll notice"

"Good. That's the idea."

"Sherlock it's not good. He's already hot on our tails after the incident at the factory"

"Look, getting this money will put a substantial dent in his finances. While he's dealing with that we can go to China and work on the small group there. Ok? Besides this was Mycroft's idea not mine. Blame him."

Irene rolled her eyes. Of course it was. Sherlock marched into the Swiss bank, brushing a blonde lock from his eyes and adjusted the was going to be easy. Irene linked a glove covered arm through Sherlock's.

"Do you even know the key?"

"Of course. Johann Sebastian Bach"

* * *

_It came! Oh god it actually came! Everyone you are now looking at a published author. Yesterday the first copy of my first book arrived at our door. A Study In Pink. Oh it looks wonderful, I just can't believe it. Several of you are getting free copies, so look out for those in the mail. Sorry I can't deliver some in person, with my injuries and working on finishing the next manuscript I haven't got the time._

_Just thought I'd let you know!_

* * *

"It's gone. It's all gone"

"What has?"

"The money, your money. In that bank in Switzerland"

"Impossible. Must be an error"

"Or You-Know-Who has done something about it."

"What Voldemort?...Oh wait you mean Lockie. Are you sure?"

"Look at the screen if you don't believe me"

Jim peered over Sebastian's shoulder. That bastard.. all his money was gone! Well not all his money. He had it spread across several banks in several countries, but this still put a dent in his finances. Jim began to growl, his fists clenching. He picked up the laptop, throwing it at the wall.

Sebastian sighed. Another laptop gone. That made three in the past two months. But people like Jim Moriarty never took anger management classes. "Look I told you he'd do something like this, you wouldn't believe me. That blog of his says he's heading to China, do you want me to do something about it or not?"

"What?.. No.. not yet. I'll handle it when the time comes. Notify them will you? Just in case. And shoot the imbecile in charge of my account in Switzerland for me."

"Where are you going?"

"The lab dear Sebastian. Did you buy those nicotine patches like I asked you too?"

"Of course, they're on the bench" Jim smiled and picked up the box, throwing it up into the air once and caught it deftly with one hand. "Thanks, I'll be busy for the next hour or so. Don't forget dinner" The psychopath left the room for his lab.

"Fine. Thanks Sebastian, you're so helpful Sebastian. Bloody ungrateful git"

* * *

_To John Watson,_

_I am so sorry to hear about your accident! Are you ok? Such a terrible thing to have happened. And you say that it was done on purpose? That's even worse! I thought London was relatively safe. It seems I was in error._

_You say you are sending me a copy of your book. You do not need to do so really. Especially since I have no fixed address right now. But, if you really want to.. then I suppose I can not turn down such a generous offer. I will send you my next address soon and hopefully I can get the book then._

_Congratulations on becoming an author and I hope you get well soon._

_Normund._

* * *

Congratulations...John. You're finally moving on but thank goodness you haven't forgotten me. Even though I said I wanted you too, I never meant it. I could never forget you. You're un-deleteable. Please stay safe and happy till I return. It's going to be strange receiving a book about me in the mail. But I'm touched that you wrote it. Still think it's a rubbish idea. But.. thank you all the same.


	41. 41

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not sure about this chapter..I made it listening to Rage and Serenity, from Xmen First Class...
> 
> So Yeah...I have this belief in the music of nature...so...I thought it seemed relevant...

 

* * *

"Hey mate, how are you? I'm doing, well considering what's happened." John groaned as he eased himself to the ground, resting his back against the cold black marble. "Getting hit by a car isn't the most pleasant of experiences. Still, I'm still here, still alive. I know I am, because I'm in constant pain. But, being a soldier and a doctor, I'm no stranger to pain. You were lucky, it was probably quick and painless. At least I hope it was. I'd hate for you to have died in agony."

"First book's done, second is off at the publishers. Hope you don't mind, probably wouldn't care really, would you? I'm really pleased though, people are already buying it. Reading about our adventures. Sent copies off to a few people. Mrs Hudson, Lestrade, Harry, Mycroft, even Normund. Thats the Norwegian explorer I told you about. I'm pretty sure the two of you would have gotten along." John chuckled sadly to himself.

"I don't know if there's life after death, Sherlock but I like to think the whole time I was in that coma that you were watching over me. I mean I dreamt about you. Seemed normal for awhile, until you told me to wake up."

"I really like to think that was you, not a memory of you, but you coming to me in my dream and trying to save my life. Again. I didn't want to wake up but you forced me too. I suppose I should say thank you. Except when I woke up my heart just broke again because for a short second I thought you may have been alive by my bedside. But it was just a dream. Just a sodding dream" He wiped away a stray tear.

"Me and Mary have moved in together. Brought a flat, actually not that far from Baker Street which is nice. When I'm better I'll be able to walk over and see Mrs Hudson. It's weird sharing a place with someone thats not you. It's a lot quieter in a lot of ways. Mary's done all the designing. You know, arranging the furniture."

"She.. I love her for it, she's made it feel like you're there with us. You know? Your violin is on the mantlepiece, that photo of us is framed, the one where we're laughing? Some of your books are in the bookcases. We put your scarf on a peg in the hallway. Its just the little things, the small details, she's made it feel like home. I feel at home. It's a different sort of home. But different's not bad, different can be good."

He stood shakily, with aid from his crutches, pulling a small pink, paperback book from his coat and laying it amongst the flowers. "Here, this is your copy. Hope you like it mate. I'll come by soon, with Mary. I'll miss you till then, but then, I always miss you. I expect I always will."

* * *

"I fail to see why we are here"

"Because I'm worried about you and this is a good place to hideout for two weeks"

"It's a monastery"

"Exactly. Look, I told them whats been happened and they've agreed to give us sanctuary. Especially after all that deducing. God you are such a show off"

"It's what I do. I still don't see what the point is. It's incredibly boring."

Irene sighed, rubbing her hand across her nose. "Sherlock you haven't had a break since you started all this. Except after getting shot in the leg. You've run yourself ragged, you've been abusing the nicotine patches and I swear , I've caught you trying to buy drugs twice! You need to relax for awhile". Sherlock shook his ginger head.

"Impossible. I can't relax. My mind is like an engine, I can't simply turn it off."

Irene laughed. "Yes you can, thats why I brought you here, I've heard amazing things about these monks. Look you know meditation right? These guys will help you relax your body and your mind. You need to be in top condition if or when you ever have to face Moriarty again. I am not having you fainting like last week from lack of food and nicotine poisoning. Understand?"

"No"

She patted his leg and pulled on her coat. "I'm going down to the village. Theres a monk coming up to see you this afternoon, try and behave."

"No"

"Later, Sherlock"

"No"

* * *

They had arrived here a few nights ago. A remote but beautiful monastery up in the mountains in rural 'd been on the run for three days prior. Sherlock had assumed it was just a convenient place, now it seems Irene had ulterior motives.

"Mr Holmes?"

A young voice, with an extradionary grasp of the english language knocked on his door. Sherlock turned his head to see a teenaged monk, in bright orange robes smile at him. He held another robe over one arm.

"I'm not wearing that."

"You don't have too, I just thought I'd ask. Come with me please?"

"No"

"Please Mr Holmes" His voice was so patient and quiet it was nauseating. But it held certainty, as if he knew Sherlock would eventually give in. He supposed he might as well. Anything to stave off the inevitable boredom.

* * *

The young monk led him through the forest, Sherlock found it difficult to keep up with him. "How long till we get.. where we are going?". The boy grinned. "It is not far Mr Holmes, hurry up, such long legs yet so slow!" Sherlock grumbled and quickened his pace.

"Do you have a name?"

"Wei Dingxiang"

"Bit of a mouthful, do you have a nickname?"

"Ang"

"How long have you been with the monastery Ang?"

God he hated small talk. The youthful monk smiled as he led the tall detective through the forest. "Since I was a child. My parent's could not take care of me, so they left me at the monastery. I have been here ever since. I do not mind. I have such a large family here that I have not gone wanting." Sherlock nodded, still it seemed a boring existence to him.

"Here we are."

They had come to the river, a pier was across half of it. The water was so clear Sherlock could see to the bottom. The monk moved to the end and sat cross legged. "Come Mr Holmes, sit with me" Sherlock decided to give the boy the benefit of the doubt and sat next to him, cross legged as well.

"Why are we here?"

"To listen"

"Listen to what?"

"Everything"

"But.. theres nothing here."

"I thought your job was to observe, Mr Holmes. Perhaps it is only people you observe. Open your eyes, then you will open your mind"

Sherlock attempted to stay silent but lasted less than five minutes. "It's not possible, I can't just stop thinking!" The monk gave him another understanding smile. "You like music, no?"

"I like music, yes"

"Think of the world as music. Listen to the river, to the wind. Listen to the birdsong. The rustling of the leaves in the forest. Think of them as your music." Sherlock scoffed. Surely the boy wasn't serious. How was any of that supposed to help him 'calm his mind'. Why did he need to calm his mind anyway?

"Humour me, Mr Holmes. You are my first student. If this way is not the one for you, then we shall find another. There are many paths that lead one to peace of mind."

"And you're so knowledgeable about this? At seventeen?" Sherlock found himself scoffing again.

"It is not about knowledge, Mr Holmes, but experience. Now, close your eyes" Sherlock did as he was told. "Clear your mind. I will play you a short tune on this, to help you" Ang removed a small flute from the folds of his robes and began to play a slow haunting tune.

* * *

This was ridiculous. It was never going to work. Sherlock had tried everything under the sun and drugs were the only things that ever helped. Still, he'd humour the kid, might as well, nothing else to do out here. Ok, deep breaths, in and out. That was right wasn't it?Sherlock tried to stop thinking, which was incredibly hard. But as he attempted to something strange happened.

He could hear the water in this distance, splashing, swishing, playing. The wind whispered it's secrets through the trees. There was such a strange but calm silence throughout the whole area. Rain drops began to fall and Sherlock was stunned to hear them play a beat upon the stone and wood that surrounded them. It was like the whole clearing was playing it's own unique symphony. Nature had music. Sherlock had never noticed it before. It was beautiful.

The music had stopped and Sherlock had not even realised. He gasped as he found himself back in reality. This, this had felt better than any drug. He felt rejuvenated, more alive then he had been in awhile.

"How do you feel Mr Holmes?"

"How...how is that possible? How can a forest have music?"

"All nature has music. We had music before we had words, Mr Holmes. Is music not special too you?" Of course it was. Music was everything. Music was in his blood, it was his pulse, his heartbeat. Music was it's own kind of drug. When all else failed, he turned to it. It helped him think. He just had never known that nature had it's own instruments.

"Mr Holmes? Are you happy?"

"What? Why? What does that matter?"

"It's important. Are you happy?"

"Yes...no. Sometimes"

"You do not sound sure."

"I was happy. Sometimes I am..sometimes I'm not"

"You live a dangerous life. Is there someone that makes you happy? Or something?"

"John. John made me happy"

"How?"

"He's just.. was..always there for me. He saw me how others didn't. Why am I telling you this? ."Ang nodded, his eyes catching the figure of his Master waiting calmly at the edge of the clearing.

"I will be right back Mr Holmes"

"Yes..of course"

The boy stood and headed towards the elderly man, bowing in respect. The elder smiled, patting the boy's head, dismissing him. Sherlock wondered if he'd done something wrong, he wondered who this man was.

* * *

"Can I sit here, Mr Holmes?"

"What? It's not my pier, go ahead."

"I have been speaking to your friend. She worries about you. She says you have not been taking care of yourself." Sherlock, sighed and stood, beginning to pace back and forth across the pier. Why couldn't The Woman mind her own damn business? "It's none of her business. She's only here because my brother thinks I need a handler. I don't, Im fine on my own!"

"Are you?"

"Of course!"

"Some how I doubt this is true"

"Well it is, don't you listen?"

"I always listen, Mr Holmes. It is my job to listen. You were calm a moment ago, now you are distressed, why?" Sherlock shook his head. "No, it's not important." The monk watched him as calm as the now quiet river. "It is important. You have hard times ahead, you need to be fit in body as well as mind. I am not asking if you feel happy up here" He pointed to his temple. "But in here" He pressed his hand against his chest.

"Of course I do." Sherlock made a face. "Then why does your soul cry out?". Sherlock spun around to stare at the monk. "What do you mean? It's not, don't be ridiculous." "It is as plain as the nose on your face" Sherlock cupped his own nose. "You miss someone, don't you."

"No, I don't miss anyone. I'm fine"

"Tell me about them"

"Nothing to tell."

"Please, I am an old man, I am a good listener. If you feel ashamed, don't be. You are not at ease with yourself, you can not fully relax for long because you are missing something. Mr Holmes do you love?"

"What?. No, course not. Love...is not really my area"

"Let me tell you what I think about love. I feel love, true love, is something that sneaks up on us. We do not see it coming. We do not even realise it is there until suddenly we notice a part of ourselves is missing. Because someone has taken it, without our knowledge, without theirs. There are many kinds of love. Some are romantic, some sexual, some platonic. Some, can not be defined. So, Mr Holmes. Do you love anybody. Has anyone stolen a part of you?"

"...yes" He whispered.

"Who?"

"John. Mrs Hudson. Mycroft. Lestrade. Molly."

"Who are these people to you?"

"Everything"

"What would you do for them?"

"Everything"

* * *

"You friend told me you saved their lives. Wise man say When the character of a man is not clear to you, look at his friends. I feel the same is true on how a man treats his friends. You faked your death, to save them"

"Yes but I didn't die, I..I was a coward."

"Would you have died for them? If you had no choice?"

"...Yes"

"Then you are not as cold as you make yourself out to be. You are warm, burning hot. Perhaps you were once frozen, someone has thawed you out. These people, they are your family. They are your anchor. You need peace Mr Holmes, use them. Think of them before you press that needle into your arm, before you abuse your body. If you fail because of your own faults, who pays the price?"

"They don't, they wouldn't know.."

"Would they stay safe?"

"Maybe.. look what does this matter? What does any of this matter?"

"Mr Holmes, when you came to us, you were in danger of...crashing. You were falling, Mr Holmes. You had pushed yourself to the limit and still you found you were wanting. If your quest is as dangerous and vital as you make it out to be, how can you hope to accomplish things if you have not peace in yourself? The enemy is chaos, chaos reigns in hearts of un-peaceful people. A little chaos in our lives is good, some thrive on it, but to let it take over your entire being? If you are at peace in the heat of battle, you can overcome your foe. Do you understand Mr Holmes?"

It was a lot to take in. The man certainly had a way of words. From the lips of anyone else they might seem stupid but from this man, they sounded wise beyond anything he'd heard in a long time. "You're saying if I can relax, remain calm, without the aid of drugs, I can beat Moriarty?" The monk nodded, pleased he was understood.

"What do I have to do?"

"Exactly as we do. It takes a wise man to learn from his mistakes, but an even wiser man to learn from others. Will you learn from us Mr Holmes?"

"If it helps me to beat him, I'll do anything."

"Good, a willing heart and a willing mind. Follow me"


	42. 42

Over the next two weeks Sherlock trained and studied under the monks guidance. He learned far more about fighting in those two weeks than in his entire life. Although he didn't have time to learn them all completely, he became quite proficient in a number of fighting styles. His mediation was coming along fairly well too. Sherlock was happier and healthier than he had been in a long, long time.

But now the two weeks were over, it was time to leave. He'd given his respects to the monks and left with Irene to a small Chinese village about ten hours from the monastery. They stayed in a little hotel, Sherlock washing the dye from his hair so as not to stand out too much.

"Sherlock?"

"Irene?"

"Mail for you"

"...mail...here? For me?"

"Well...Normund Sigerson actually"

Sherlock sat up, stood and snatched the package from Irene's hands. He st back down letting her voice fade back into whit noise. It was a brown paper package. The writing...John's writing! He carefully tore off the paper, revealing a small book. It was scarlet with a pale border. On the cover was a black sketched illustration of a pill bottle and two pills. The words, 'A Study In Pink' emblazoned on the top. By John H. Watson..

He opened the book, his eyes catching the handwritten message on the inside of the cover.

* * *

_Dear Normund,_

_You have been a great friend through tough times and I thank you for it. You have been so supportive despite us never meeting. I do hope we meet some day, our flat has a spare room waiting for you if you ever decided to come visit._

_I hope you enjoy what is too be the first of several books about my best friend. I will try and send them all to you if I can._

_Your friend,_

_John Watson._

* * *

Sherlock's fingers traced the words gently, a tear slipping down his face. Irene took this as a sign she should leave and decided to go out for a bit. Sherlock didn't even notice. John...you actually wrote it. He turned the page, another tear fell as he read the dedication. I miss you so much John.

It didn't take long to read the book. It was fascinating to see a much fuller and more descriptive account of the case from John's point of view. He had, and Sherlock was very pleased, included the actual deductions. It was still as romantic and full of adventure as the blog post had been. But that was John anyway. The adventure, the warrior. John Watson, the writer. Sherlock, despite still thinking that a book about him was a bit silly, was very proud of his friend.

Without realising it John had given Sherlock a lifeline to London. To John. He held the book close to his chest, staring out at the stars in the night sky. I'll be home soon John, I promise. Even if we never become flatmates again, I will come home soon, just to see you. Just to make you smile. Taking a breath Sherlock put down the book, trying to shake away his emotions. He leaned over and picked up a box of nicotine patches.

He was gradually decreasing the number he used, quite proud of himself. Going cold turkey wasn't safe but he was now down to two patches! He lifted them out and placed them on his bare arm, leaning back and sighing. Mediation did help but it would work better once he no longer needed the patches.

* * *

Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. Sherlock couldn't move. He lay on the couch frozen in place. His eyes widened in shock. What was happening to him?

"It's a good thing you're still predictable Lockie dear, made it so easy. Though, I was hoping you would use more patches but two should be enough"

Jim.

The consulting criminal moved in his line of vision, lifted his head and seating himself down, resting Sherlock's head on his lap. Jim began to stroke his hair. "Don't worry, sssh. It's all right, daddy's here now. Do you like it? Took me awhile to come up with the right chemicals to make it. It's a slow acting drug. It paralyses you and then knocks you out for simply ages darling." Sherlock began to panic. No, not now, this couldn't happen now!

"You look well! So healthy Sherlock. Have you been working out? Still thin, still got that figure" Jim's fingers traced symbols across his chest. I.O.U. "I said I didn't really care what you were doing. But I did. I lied Lockie dear. I very inconvience now. Defintly had enough. But don't worry. Im not going to kill you. Not yet anyway. We're going to have a little fun first."

The door opened and Sherlock wished he could turn his head to see. What sounded like a large crate was dropped onto the stone floor, the lid pulled off.

"I thought maybe you might like to stay with us. Me and Sebby. I've always wanted a pet. Maybe I should just keep you? But no, Sebby says all pets must be broken to bridle first. So I'm sending you to some old friends. You remember the Black Lotus?" Jim's face was filled with childish glee as he caught the horrified look in Sherlock's eyes. His fingers playfully pulled Sherlock's dark curls.

"They're going to teach you some manners Sherlock. I can't let you go unpunished for what you did. You know..maybe I'll take you back to London when they're done. You can see John again! And I can slit your throat while he watches! Doesn't that sound like fun Sherlock?" Two chinese thugs lifted Sherlock and dropped him unceremoniously into the crate. Jim leaned over and place his arms across the edge of the box.

"I'll see you soon my dear. Have a nice trip. See you next fall. I still owe you Lockie. Look at you. All healthy and you have John's book! Oh my dear, don't you know all good things must come to an end?"

No. No!...This isn't right...no. Move! Dammit move! No..please no. Help me! Someone help me! Mycroft! Irene..John! JOHN!

Sherlock's eyes slowly slid shut, the darkness pulling him down into a black abyss.


	43. 43

_He's gone.. he's just gone. I think something's happened. He wouldn't leave without telling me. -IA_

_He does that. Are you quite sure? - MH_

_Absolutely. There is signs of a break-in, I think he's been taken. -IA_

_...Head to the airport, you're coming back to London. Let my men deal with this. We need to talk - MH_

_See you soon -IA_

* * *

_You should all be seeing my next book in the stores soon! I can't believe how fast things are moving, I suspect a minor government involvement. Needless to say I am excited! I will be having a book launch soon once my first collection of cases is released. After this will come my Hounds novel. This one is taking a little longer to write._

_Still I really hope to have this and then my second collection out before Christmas. It will be entitled Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes and will feature..his final case. Which will be the hardest to write but I want the truth to be told._

* * *

_Speak to you all again soon._

* * *

John's life was changing in leaps and bounds. Almost seven, eight months on and he had moved on from his friend's death, for the most part anyway, moved out of his flat, moved into a new one, met the most gorgeous, most supportive woman and then moved in with her. Life was changing for the better. John didn't feel alone any more. He felt happy, loved.

Sure life wasn't as adventurous as he would like but perhaps that could change. This was a different sort of adventure and one he'd always wanted to go on. He was happy to have someone like Mary by his side to share it with.

* * *

Sherlock awoke in a dark, dank room. It was freezing cold and he wrapped his thin silk dressing gown, tightly around him. There was barely any light but he could make out a few things. A moth-eaten, rag covered mattress, a rusting sink and a primitive loo.

He felt light headed, almost sliding down the wall. He crawled towards the mattress, laying his head upon it. He had no idea where he was. That scared him.

* * *

Of all the idiotic things his brother had done, this was on the top of the list. His brother had got himself kidnapped. Brilliant. Like things couldn't get any better. Right now, Mycroft's men were taking care of what was supposed to be Sherlock's jobs. Mycroft turned his own attention to finding out the whereabouts of his brother. Hopefully this won't turn out to be too difficult.

* * *

The large metal door creaked open. Two men walked over to Sherlock briskly and grabbed him, heaving him to his feet. Sherlock felt unsteady, one of the men grabbed his hands and pulled them behind his back, handcuffing him. "Walk" He ordered in uncertain english. Sherlock figured it was safer to obey, he was in no condition to fight back.

They took him down several corridors. Sherlock deduced he must be in some old chinese prison. Probably abandoned. The men pushed him into a large room. There was a chair next to a old hardwood table. And a tall, menacing woman. Clearly ex military. Clearly not to be messed with. One of the men pulled Sherlock over and forced him into the chair. The woman ordered them out of the room and turned her attention to Sherlock. She smiled. Like a shark.

"So Mr Holmes, it is so very nice to meet you. It is because of you that I got my job after my predecessor was killed for her incompetence."

"So glad to have helped."

"Thank you. I am General Long. I am here to punish you for your misdeeds against the generous Mr Moriarty. You will address me as Ma'am or General when in my presence."

"What if I refuse?"

She smiled again and grabbed his head and banged it hard against the table. The room spun as Sherlock righted himself. "Then you will regret it. Now, I have a gift for your from the kind Mr Moriarty. Are you not fortunate?" She turned and picked up a flat, square leather box. The General opened it, taking out a black leather collar with a bright silver dog-tag. She waved it in front of Sherlock's face. Engraved on the silver disc were the words 'Lockie', the number 1895 engraved underneath it.

"That is your identity while you are in my care. 1895. You are but a number only. Not a person." She motioned for a guard to hold him still while she placed the collar around his neck, locking it with a small silver padlock, she waved the key and slipped it onto a necklace around her neck. "There now. It even has a leash if you misbehave yourself to much." She opened a pocketbook, taken from the inside pocket of her pale green coat. "Now you have an appointment with The Ox." The General clicked her fingers, the guards marching in and each grabbed one of Sherlock's shoulders roughly, steering him from the room.

* * *

The Ox, in the detectives opinion was aptly named. He was huge. But perhaps a more accurate name could be The Mountain. He was bald, with no front teeth but hundreds of tattoos. He didn't seem to speak any english. The guards pushed the curly haired detective into the room and left quickly. Sherlock spun around, wondering if they were actually frightened of this man.

The Ox gave Sherlock a toothless grin and pushed him against the wall, unlocking his hand cuffs and repositioned Sherlock's hands to his front, pulling him to the middle of the room. Sherlock tried to fight him but it useless, the man was too strong. He painfully lifted Sherlock's wrists up to a pair of cuffs dangling from the ceiling. Sherlock was certain he was not going to like where this was going.

The Ox flexed his wrists, gave another toothless grin and pulled back a fist.

* * *

Sherlock was eased down onto the mattress, his bruised eyes staring at the wall as his hands were unshackled. The guards even pulled a ragged blanket across his shivering form and left the cell. Every inch of Sherlock ached. His chest felt painfully tight. He could barely breath. He was covered in bruises, at least two ribs were broken. Two of his fingers had been broken like twigs. Blood flowed freely from his nose, as well as his lip but none of the other blows had actually drawn blood.

He supposed he was fortunate, but he didn't feel it. He only hoped his brother would find him soon. Before it was too late.


	44. 44

It had been over a month. Over one month since he last heard about his brother. It was the longest month in his life. This wasn't uncommon, Sherlock had often gone weeks without speaking to his brother but he'd always known his location. This time, Sherlock had dropped off the map. Someone had taken him. Mycroft wasn't even sure if his brother still lived. But he hoped and prayed to a god he didn't believe in that he was. Because if he wasn't, there was not a force on this earth that would be able to stop him.

* * *

John curled up on the couch next to Mary, the two huddled together in front of the fire, content in each others company. John held Mary's hand in his, then lifted it up to his lips, kissing her fingertips. She giggled, wrapping her arms around his neck. John smiled and blew into her ear. "Should we spend the night in? Or do you want to go out somewhere?". Mary smiled, kissing his cheek, earning another cheeky grin from her solider.

"Let's stay in. I..want you to read to me."

"Read to you? Alright then, what from?"

Mary leaned over and picked up her copy of a Study In Pink. "I want to hear it, in your voice. Please John" John took the book from her and kissed her softly on her pale pink lips. "For you, I'd do anything." She resumed her cuddling of her doctor and solider. John turned to the first chapter and began to read.

"When I first met Sherlock Holmes, I had no idea that he would change my life. I had no idea how close we would become or the adventures we would share. But this story doesn't start with Sherlock, strangely enough. It starts with another old friend. Mike Stamford. I'd just returned home from war in Afghanistan..."

* * *

One month and one week and Sherlock was a changed man. Five weeks of torture was all it took. Five weeks of spending his days drugged so he didn't try and escape or fight back. Five weeks locked up in a little dark cell. Five weeks without love or kindness. Five weeks alone. Five weeks was all it took for Sherlock to no longer acknowledge reality.

He barely responded to outside stimuli. Oh if beaten, whipped or choked, he'd make a noise, but that was purely instinctive. A force of habit. No, Sherlock spent most of his time curled up in an empty corner of the cell, his torn blanket wrapped around his shoulders, lost somewhere in the dark recesses of his mind. They weren't sure if it was the drugs. Or if they had just broken the detective.

Sherlock was so much thinner now. They didn't starve him, he just usually didn't pay attention to the food. His black hair no longer carried a shine, his skin too pale to be healthy, too pale to even be alive. His eyes, they were the eyes of a dead man. Of someone who had long ago given up hope.

Hollow eyes. He had no hope. No one was coming to save him, he gave up caring a long time ago. Moriarty could keep him as a pet, or kill him. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered. John mattered, but John had moved on, he had forgotten Sherlock, he no longer cared about the detective, or visited his grave. They had shown him proof. But Sherlock didn't think about this anymore. If he thought at all.

He was slipping away.

* * *

_THIS IS HIDDEN DRAGON, REPORTING TO BROTHER UMBRELLA, PLEASE RESPOND -HD_

_Brother Umbrella reporting, what news do you have? -BU_

_DEERSTALKER HAS BEEN FOUND, I REPEAT DEERSTALKER HAS BEEN FOUND -HD_

_...I'm on my way -BU_

* * *

Mycroft had been fortunate that after reading John's new book, The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson that he had suspected the Black Lotus were involved in his brother's kidnapping. Fortunate still that he knew of undercover agents in China willing to help him. Hidden Dragon would not go unrewarded for her efforts.

Mycroft usually stood back from the chaos and arranged things from his office. But this was different, this was his only brother. His only family. This was Sherlock and nothing was going to stand in his way. Which is why he now stood in front of an old, disused prison in rural China, praying he still had a brother.He could hear the gunshots, the muffled shouting from outside. His men and others had gone in to deal with the members of the Black Lotus still inside. He waited anxiously for the all clear. It felt like hours. In reality it was only thirty minutes.

* * *

The government official wasted no time in racing inside, running down the the twisting corridors, searching for his brother, crying out his name, desperate for a response. Nothing. He doubled over panting, trying to smooth his face into one devoid of emotion as he heard someone's footsteps behind him.

"Sir?"

"What?"

"We think we found him."

"Show me"

It couldn't be him. Mycroft thought as he stared at the pathetic, huddled figure. That couldn't be Sherlock. He barked orders at the man trying to open the cell door. Faster! Move faster! It took fifteen minutes. As soon as the door creaked open, Mycroft raced inside, the smell of old blood and a dozen other odours he didn't want to discern, hit his nose. He crept closely towards the cowered figure against the wall.

The body flinched, his long dark hair slipping down across his eyes. Mycroft reached out a hand, gently, pushing back the uneven locks. It was his brother. Even under that beard. Even under that pale, pale skin. It was Sherlock Holmes. His skin was marred with bruises, his lips dry and bleeding. His hair was matted with old blood, some had trickled down the side of his head and dried there. His legs were folded awkwardly beside them, one clearly broken. His arms were folded across his chest. One broken, the other with broken fingers. His uneven breathing spoke of broken ribs. Mycroft felt his blood rising.

"Sherlock?"

"Sherlock..It's Mycroft, it's Myky. I've come to rescue you."

Sherlock wouldn't respond. Mycroft's heart slipped into his throat. "Lockie?" He whispered, turning his brother's head to look at him. But his brother's eyes were dead, if not for the radiating heat and pulse under his hands he might have thought he was holding his corpse.

His brother looked straight through him. Mycroft had lost. A tear slipped down his cheek, matched by another and another. He wrapped his arms around his sibling and held him close. Rocking them both. No. Im sorry. Please come back.

He'd been too late. He'd taken too long.

He'd lost his little brother.

Please come back to me.

Give him back. Please.

Sherlock.


	45. 45

They took Mycroft's private plane home. The doctor's and nurses on board, gently bathed the detective, shaved his beard and even cut his hair. He was then dried off and bandaged up. His wounds would need to be fully checked over once they landed at Heathrow. Sherlock was delicately dressed into clean, new, pale blue pyjamas. He now lay across a couch, his head resting in his brother's lap. Mycroft lightly stroking his curls. His brother was asleep. He hadn't said a word since they rescued him, several hours ago. He was still locked away in his mind. Still staring off into the distance. That hollow gaze tore into Mycroft's soul. Breaking his heart. He tried to pretend that the body on his lap wasn't really his brother, just his shell.

The doctor's said it could be the drugs, but that was, in Mycroft's opinion, wishful thinking. His brother was catatonic, unresponsive. His body lived, breathed, his heart still beated But his mind, his incredible mind, was gone. Lost. His brother was lost and unable to find his way home. Mycroft had insisted on helping the doctor's treat his little brother's wounds. But he wished he hadn't. He'd been physically sick. As well as bruises and broken bones, pale scars clearly created with a whip, were present on his back, criss-crossing each other.

More than a dozen other cuts were discovered on his skin, some clean, some with signs of infection. Worse still were burns. Most healing. There..there was a fucking brand on the sole of his brother's right foot. A fucking brand! Of the thieving magpie. Moriarty. Oh Mycroft would make him pay, he would tear him to pieces. Bit by bit, inch by inch until he tore that smug grin from his face and crushed it in his hands.

And then there was that collar. That disgusting piece of leather. The lock took time to break but as soon as it was, Mycroft had thrown it across the plane. It was then he saw the deep bruising around his brother's throat. He'd been choked. The glass Mycroft held in his hand, was crushed by the force of his fingers. He now bore a bandage around the palm of his hand.

His brother had suffered all this, he'd been tortured, starved, drugged, treated like he was nothing, like an animal, a non-human. It was no wonder he had eventually cracked and retreated inside himself. Mycroft simply hoped that his brother wasn't completely broken. That he would come back to him. He wiped a tear from his cheek. He had to come back. Mycroft was prepared, if necessary to look after him for the rest of his life, if it came to that. But that thought alone scared the hell out of him. The mere thought that Sherlock might remain trapped inside his own head revolted and terrified him. If Mycroft couldn't bring him back there was only one man who could and it was the one man he couldn't tell, for his own safety.

* * *

Sherlock tossed fitfully on his brother's lap, in the midst of a terrifying nightmare. Mycroft tried in vain to wake him, shaking him, calling his name but nothing worked. It was the only time he'd heard Sherlock make a sound. He was crying, whimpering, he didn't say anything. His brother curled his painfully thin body into a ball. Mycroft's heart constricted. He lifted him up and placed his head against his chest and held him.

"Sssh... it's ok little brother. It's ok. I'm here. I promise you are safe. I promise you Sherlock. It's only a dream. Just wake up. Come on Lockie, you can do that for me. Can't you?...Please?" His voice cracked. Please Lockie, just wake up and look at me. Just come back to me. Please I got you back, I can't lose you. Not again. You're all I have.

But he wouldn't wake up. Sherlock never listened to his brother. Mycroft only knew one thing that might calm him down. A song he used to sing to his brother when he was just a child. It might work. Sherlock's hand clenched his brother's suit, unconsciously reaching out. Mycroft rested his head on top of Sherlock's, kissing it.

_Far over the Misty Mountains cold,_

_To dungeons deep and caverns old_

_The pines were roaring on the heights,_

_The wind was moaning in the night,_

_The fire was red, it flaming spread,_

_The trees like torches blazed with light._

He glanced down at his brother's face to see a slight smile spread across his pale lips. Mycroft smiled with him, rocking him gently. He continued singing, his heart eased by his brother's restful sleep.

* * *

_"Myky, Myky! Wead to me!"_

_"Lockie, it's time for bed, for you and for me." The little toddler pouted, knowing full well that a pout, coupled with his cherubic looks and curly dark hair, usually got him what he wanted. He knew this, even at three years old. Mycroft sighed and sat on the edge of his brother's bed._

_"Alright, what book should we start reading? We just finished Journey to the Center of The Earth. It's your turn to pick. Choose wisely"_

_"Uuuuum... The Hobbit!" Mycroft raised his eyebrows. One of his favourite books. He patted his brother's head and went to retrieve his copy. He returned to see his brother jumping in his bed, eager to hear the story. Excited._

_"Myky"_

_"Hmm?" The pre-teen positioned himself on the bed next to his brother, who moved so he could sit in Mycroft's lap. "What's a hobbit?" Mycroft smiled, ruffling his siblings hair. "It's a little person. Like a dwarf but shorter. With curly hair."_

_"Like me?"_

_"Sure"_

_"Ok, I'm weady!" Mycroft grinned and proceeded to read._

_"In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms ..."_

* * *

_"Myky?"_

_"Hmm?"_

_"One day Ima go on an adventure. No..heaps of adventures!"_

_"I'm sure you will."_

_"Will you come with?"_

_"Only if you go to sleep Lockie"_

_"Night Myky"_

_"Good night Sherlock"_

* * *

Mycroft raised his head, startled by the sudden stop of the plane. He'd fallen asleep. He smiled sadly at that fond memory. The Hobbit had been one of Sherlock's favourite books as a child. His second favourite had been Treasure Island. From hobbits to pirates. He looked down at his brother, who appeared to be sleeping peacefully, his fingers still clutching Mycroft's suit.

"Sir? We've landed, the ambulance is waiting outside." Mycroft nodded. "See that he gets the best care money can buy." He watched as the paramedics lifted his sleeping sibling onto a stretcher and carted him out of the airport. He would receive emergency care and then once it was safe, he'd be sent to Mycrofts home.

Where the government official had already phone ahead for Sherlock's room to be made over with any piece of hospital equipment necessary. It wasn't safe for his brother to be in a hospital while he was still "dead". No, Mycroft would make sure he was safe and under watchful eyes.

He would be well cared for.


	46. 46

One week later and Sherlock still had not uttered a word. His doctors were pleased with his physical progress, continually telling Mycroft that until the drugs were all completely out of his system, there was no way to tell if they were the reason he was catatonic. Mycroft knew it wasn't the drugs. He knew his little brother. It broke his heart to see him so lost, so fragile. So broken.

Sherlock himself spent most of his time curled up in bed or sitting on the window seat, watching the stars. Always in pyjamas and dressing gown. Mycroft wondered if he was actually staring outside or not. Nothing, or very little, seemed to be able to bring his brother out of his mind. He ate if food was placed before him. He would dress himself, or try too. But aside from that he didn't really acknowledge anything. Not even his own brother. Mycroft was at a loss.

He'd tried talking to him. He would sing the song he used to sing to him as a child. He would hold him, hug him, shake him. Kiss his forehead. Beg. Shout, cry. Nothing. So Mycroft spent everyday caring for his sibling. Reading to him, stories, police cases, the newspaper. Talking to him, hugging him. He hoped that somehow, some of this might get through to him.

Please come back Sherlock.

* * *

Sherlock sat on the window seat, his back against the wall, his legs folded beside him. He stared out at the night sky, watching the stars twinkle and shine. "Sherlock, come now, it's time for bed." Initially they had discovered that if you called out the number 1895, he would come to you. It had taken a week for him to recognise his own name. Which he barely did anyway. Like now.

Mycroft gently grabbed his brother's shoulders and steered him towards the bed. He was still wearing his dressing gown but that was fine. He helped his brother into bed, sitting beside him and picking up a book. The Hobbit. Mycroft had started to read it too him a few days ago. He seemed to like it. Sometimes he would even appear to smile. Mycroft turned to the next chapter and began to speak. At some point Sherlock had leaned over and rested his head against Mycroft's shoulder. He was still in there, somewhere. Mycroft was certain. He placed one arm around Sherlock's back, kissed the ebony curls and closed the book.

"Sweet dreams Lockie"

* * *

It was late but neither of them cared as they walked quietly down the deserted street to their flat. They'd just been to a party, friends of Mary's. John had his arm around her shoulder, holding her close. Mary smiled, a question on her lips, then John suddenly grabbed her hand and spun her around, beginning to dance. A waltz.

"John, what's gotten into you" She tapped him cheekily on the nose. He grinned back and nuzzled hers. "I was jealous of all the other people you danced with tonight. Won't you join me for this one?"

"Oh John~"

* * *

Together they danced under the moonlight, slowly, Mary always ending in John's protective arms. How she loved him. More than anything. Which is why she hoped he wouldn't refuse her next request. "John?" She looked up into his kind face. "Hmm?" She wrapped her arms around his neck, his arms settled on her hips. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. "John, my brother and his wife won a vacation to the Bahamas."

"That's wonderful! Good for them"

"..They have twins. He was hoping, and I was too, that we might look after them for two weeks. I..I'd pay for everything of course, it's just, Im not sure who else is available. Of course if you don't want to.. I don't want force you.. I ju-" John pressed a finger against her lips. "Of course we should look after them." He'd always secretly wanted children of his own. This might be good practice.

"How old are they?"

"Five. And they are both absolute terrors."

"Well, I lived with Sherlock Holmes, I think I can handle a pair of five year olds" Mary chuckled, John kissing down her cheek softly. "What are their names?" Mary held him close, both still dancing. "Lily and James."

"Nice names. Let's do this Mary. It will be fun. An adventure"

She smiled and grasped his face with both hands and gently kissed those soft, full lips.

"I hoped you might say that"

* * *

A day later and Mycroft sat next to his brother on the window seat and placed a blue book in his hands. "This is your copy of John's second book. We intercepted 'Normund's' mail. Anthea has taken over the blog for now. People were starting to worry. I don't blame them. I can't stop." He expected Sherlock to ignore the book as he did almost everything, so was shocked and elated when his brother's fingers closed over the book and brought it too his chest.

John! John was the key! Why had he not thought of this before? But it wasn't possible to bring him here. He made a promise and he intended to keep it. Still, Mycroft's finger hovered over John's number. Should he? But he promised he wouldn't. Perhaps the good doctor did not need to be here in order to help his friend. Perhaps his name might be enough. He placed his phone back into his suit pocket.

"Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes, look at me"

He grabbed his baby brother's face and turned it towards his. "Now listen closely, Sherlock. John is in trouble. John Watson is in trouble. You need to save John. Do you hear me? Save John Watson. Sherlock! Save John! He needs your help!" Nothing..and then, Sherlock's eyes widened and grabbed his brother's shoulders.

"JOHN!"


	47. 47

Sherlock stood, his eyes shifting from left to right, searching the entire room in a frenzied panic. "JOHN! Where's John? I have to save John! John?" Mycroft grabbed his brother and held him close. Why? Why was Mycroft hugging him when John was in danger. Was..was Mycroft actually crying? He never cried. Never. He was shaking. Mycroft was shaking. Sherlock was suddenly concerned for the health of his elder brother.

"Mycroft...what's wrong? Where's John? I need to see John." Please. I need to see him! John's in danger. John's in trouble!

"Oh Sherlock he's not here. He's fine, safe. I only told you those things to make you come back. I'm fine. I'm absolutely fine." Oh thank goodness. You scared me, I was terrified you would never return. Im too old for this Sherlock.

"Right...I don't understand. Come back from where?"

"You've ...been away Sherlock. Far away, for some time I suspect. In here" He tapped his brother's temple, standing straight but not letting go of his sibling. He had him back. Now he wasn't going to let him out of his sight. Sherlock's eyes widened. He had vague memories of torture, rescue, a plane ride, even Mycroft reading to him. He'd..lost himself? Why couldn't he remember? It was all like a dream...or more likely a horrible nightmare.

"What happened? Tell me...what happened Mycroft?"

* * *

The two of them stood, staring at the guest room. Not exactly a room for two energetic five year olds. "They could share the bed I suppose. We could, buy some toys and books. Hire some dvd's." John nodded. It would have to do. They would make up for it by taking them out, to a zoo, movies etc. The twins were due in two days. John was mentally preparing himself. "We'll just have to make do"

"Have you ever wanted kids, John?"

"What?..Well, I suppose, yeah I have. Not sure if I'd make the best dad but, yeah, kids, kids would be great one day."

"Oh shut up. You'd make a wonderful father. I've always wanted children. When I was growing up I even thought of names. Bit silly"

"No, not really. Come on then, what names?" Mary gave him an embarrassed smile. "John.." He grabbed her hand. "Come on, for me. What names?"

"Well, if it was a girl, then Charlotte, after my mother. Charlotte Abigail. If it was a boy then Laurie George. George after my father and Laurie after the character in Little Women. I loved that book as a child...what about you?" John smiled and waved his hand. "No.. no Im not good with names."

"If I had to tell so do you."

"No, it's.. you'd think it's stupid."

"I promise I won't laugh."

"Yeah?..Well I suppose if it was a girl they'd have to have to middle name Harriet, cause of my sister. She'd harass me if I didn't. First name I don't know. Charlotte's nice. So is Annabelle, my mother had a friend by that name, she was wonderful. For a boy..um.." His voice caught in his throat. " For a boy I guess... Sherlock. Sherlock Hamish Watson. " He wiped his eye. "Stupid, told you so." Mary hugged him taught.

"It's not stupid, I think it would be a lovely name."

"Yeah?"

"Of course John"

* * *

John had unknowingly brought his brother back to life. Mycroft told himself he ought to do something for the doctor to thank him. While Sherlock rested, having returned to the land of the living had been apparently quite tiring, Mycroft reviewed John's file. So, apparently John and Miss Mary were planning to babysit Mary's niece and nephew for two weeks. If Mycroft's memory was correct, the guest room wasn't exactly child friendly. Perhaps he could be of some assistance.

He opened his phone book and proceeded to make several phone calls.

* * *

"John? Someone's at the door. Could you answer it please?"

"On my way!" He grabbed his cane and limped towards their front door. The minute he opened it several men charged in. "Hey, what do you think you're doing? You can't just come in here!" They headed to the guest room and began to take all the furniture apart, taking it outside to a lorry. "Put that down! What gives you the right to march in here and take our stuff!" By now Mary had joined him.

"What's going on?"

"They're taking our stuff, everything in the guest room...it's nearly all gone!" Mary's hand went to her mouth, her eyes narrowed and she proceeded to yell alongside John at the intruders. But then, they started to bring in furniture. One single bed, then another. Bedspreads, toys, books, dvd's, games. Soon the room was fit for two little children. John didn't understand. How? Who?

"Who ordered this?" One of the workmen handed him a letter and gave the order for everyone to clear out. "We'll be back with yer stuff in two weeks Mr Watson."

"Who is it from John?"

"I bet I know" And he was right.

_Dear John,_

_I hope you don't mind, I took the pleasure in arranging for your guest room to be re-furnished so it was suitable for two energetic youngsters. I have raised a child myself, I know how difficult it is, so I shall pay for any expenses necessary during their stay. Enclosed is a pre-paid credit card. Use it wisely._

_You may ask why I am doing this. But I made a promise to watch out for you and I intend to keep it. You have done a wonderful thing in writing out your stories, Im sure my brother would have loved them. Confused by them, but loved them nonetheless._

_Consider this a thanks for never ceasing to believe._

_Mycroft Holmes_

* * *

"You're staying here. No matter galavanting across the continents anymore. I can't and won't lose you again. Until my men have finished with what you started, you will remain in London. Do you hear me?..Promise me Sherlock" Since his brother's return to reality a few days ago, he'd been quieter than Mycroft had ever seen him. He seemed sad, lonely. He probably was. Mycroft knew who he missed.

"I promise Mycroft"

"Thank you. Now...I don't know the reason why you retreated. But you will need to talk about it and once your memories return, them as well. You should not keep them locked away in your head. You have gone through a terrible ordeal Sherlock Holmes." Sherlock turned his head sleepily to stare at his brother. No longer hollow eyes, but sad eyes, eyes devoid of happiness or hope. "Why? Not going to a psychiatrist Mycroft"

"Im not asking you too, rubbish, the lot of them. Tell me. Talk to me. I am ready to listen. Even if it hurts the both of us."

"Why would it hurt you?"

"Because you're my brother..and I love you. Promise you'll talk to me? None of this stoic, silent warrior nonsense. Talk. To. Me"

"I promise brother."

"Thank you. Now I better pop off to bed."

Sherlock stared at him once more, a look of confusion on his face. "You're not going to continue?" Mycroft's brow furrowed. "Continue what, Sherlock?". His brother removed a hand from the confines of his blanket and pointed to the book on his nightstand. "The book, Mycroft. You said you'd read me the whole thing, I suggest you get too it. Im bored. Read to me Myc". The request sounded so childish, so like Sherlock that Mycroft couldn't help but obey and smile.

"Ok, where were we..."

"The spiders"

"Oh yes!"


	48. 48

The terrible twins had arrived and already endeared themselves to John. Already calling him Uncle John. It made his heart feel funny. Both children had far darker hair than their aunt. Lily had long curly chestnut hair and James, James had a full head of dark curls. It had unnerved John when he'd first seen him. So much like his lost friend's. He glanced over at the photo on the mantlepiece. After he'd first lost Sherlock, he'd jumped whenever he saw a man with dark curly hair. Just hoping, just maybe, Sherlock wasn't dead. But it was never Sherlock. It never would be.

Taking a breath he went back to chasing after the cheeky duo, fingers curled like claws and growling like a monster. Giggling and pretend screaming soon followed.

* * *

"Do we have to go to bed Aunt Mary?"

The two of them pouted, whining in unison, making their eyes as big and watery as possible. "'Fraid so, big day tomorrow." Lily sighed. "Can we at least have a story first?" Mary smiled and nodded. Before she could ask what story they would like, James, curious as ever, pointed to the photo of John and Sherlock.

"Who's that?"'

Mary gulped and looked at John. "James.. it's rude to point. It's none of your business who it is." James pouted again. John waved a hand. "No, it's ok really, he's just curious. Nothing wrong with that." James grinned. Success! "So...who is he?"

"He's my best friend"

"He has hair like me"

"Yes.. yes he does"

Lily glanced over as her brother was talking. "He looks happy." John replied with a sad smile. "Yeah, he does, doesn't he." Lily's eyes narrowed, she was only five but she knew when people are sad. "Why does he make you sad?" John raised an eyebrow. "What makes you think Im sad?" Lily looked to the floor. "Cause sometimes Mummy gets that look when she thinks of her sister. Auntie Lisa. She's in Heaven now"

"Ah. Yeah.. I'm a little sad."

"...Did he die?"

"James! You shouldn't ask such things!" Mary scolded the child, willing him to be silent. "Is he in Heaven?" Asked Lily, moving to sit on John's lap. John swallowed and nodded. "Yeah." Lily hugged him. This man was probably going to be her uncle, she liked him already, but he was so sad. She wanted happy Uncle John back. "Do you miss him?" John nodded. "Everyday."

"What happened?"

"James!"

"I wanna know!"

"...It's alright Mary. A bad man, did a very bad thing, and my friend got hurt and...then he went to Heaven. But he got hurt saving his friends"

"Like a hero?"

"Yes Lily.. exactly like a hero. Now, enough questions. You should listen to your Auntie Mary and hop into bed. Or...the monsters will get you again!" He mimed the claws once more and growled. The two children quickly forgot their questions and pretended to be frightened again, squealing as John chased them to their room.

* * *

"You're a natural"

"Nah...you think so?"

"I know so. You just fit into that role so well. You'll make a wonderful father someday John"

"Is that a promise?"

"Absolutely"

He moved to snuggle her on the couch. "Mary...?" She kissed his forehead, holding him close. "I think I'm ready to write about it now." Mary closed her eyes and then opened them. "Are you sure?" He nodded, misty eyes searching for hers. "I promise to be with every step of the way, ok?" John smiled and kissed her cheek.

"That's all I ask"

* * *

He still sat on that window seat. Every single day. He barely spoke, never smiled, never laughed. And yet, he didn't seem distressed. He just seemed so sad, lonely, dejected. Mycroft knew that things were not going to be easy for Sherlock. He'd been through something horrific. His body was still recovery from the injuries, Mycroft knew his brother was in constant pain. He only had sketchy details on what his brother had gone through, and what he knew was horrible enough. But... he wanted his brother back.

He wanted the man who pulled pranks on him, teased him about his weight, or his job. He wanted the man who jumped at the chance to solve a mystery. The little boy who yearned for adventure. Of slaying dragons, finding the buried treasure, solving crime, not for justice, just for fun. He wanted his brother back. His Sherlock. Not this...fake, this imperfect facsimile. Something was missing. His personality had changed. Mycroft knew this might happen. He had just prayed his brother would be spared that. The old Sherlock was gone, Mycroft would do anything to get him back.

"You're doing it again" The brother in question whispered, he rarely raised his voice.

"Doing what, exactly?"

"Staring"

"I always stare"

"Yes, I know. But this is a worried stare."

"..You know I worry about you."

"Don't"

"It's not voluntary."

"Try"

"No." Sherlock frowned and bit his lip, his eyes never leaving the night sky.

"Why do you always sit there and watch the stars, Sherlock?"

"Do you know what's its like to see a window for the first time after so long in the darkness? To see light, to see the sky? The stars?...It's like..it's like magic. It's like...you knew something was missing, but you didn't know until you saw it. I missed them Mycroft, I missed the stars. Now..Im just making up for lost time"

It was the longest amount of words he'd spoken since his return. Mycroft cough, trying to get that uncomefrotable feeling out of his throat and no, that was not a tear in his eye. He reached over and picked up a blanket, resting it around his brother's thin shoulders.

"I have to go and make a few phone calls. You'll be alright?"

"No.. but go anyway." Mycroft almost decided against leaving.

"Do give them my love"

"Who?"

"Irene and Molly" Mycroft shook his head smiling and left the room, leaving his brother to his nightly stargazing.

Ill get you back Sherlock, some way or another.

I'll get you back.


	49. 49

" _Wait let me get this straight. You found him, he's been home for two weeks and you're only just telling me now?"_

" _Now Irene, there were...mitigating circumstances. Plus I felt it wasn't needed. You needed to continue your mission in China."_

" _No, you listen to me. You should have told me! I could have helped rescue him!"_

" _No. And in any case I have told you now."_

" _I'm coming to London"_

" _No. You need to stay where you are"_

" _I want to see him"_

" _You really don't"_

" _I think I can judge for myself thank you, Mycroft"_

" _Irene...trust me when I say-"_

" _See you in a few hours, Mr Holmes"_

Mycroft sighed and hung up the phone. Then took a breath and dialled Molly Hooper.

* * *

"Sherlock.. Im going out to pick up Molly Hooper..she want's to visit you and I need to stop at a few places. Will you be alright by yourself"

No. "Of course. See you later" Still on that window seat. Still in his pyjamas, still as quiet as ever. Mycroft gave his sibling a dubious glance before pulling on his coat and grabbing the ever present umbrella.

* * *

Opening the door to 221B Baker Street, was an interesting experience, not quite what he remembered. No longer was it Sherlock's home. No music sounded from upstairs, no lingering smell of chemicals or an explosion. He remembered coming up here soon after he had thought he'd lost his brother the first time. The feeling of loss and grief still present. The emotions that threatened to spill as he'd walked up those steps. Now he walked up for an entirely different reason.

He had thought perhaps something from his flat might cheer him up. Which is why he was taking a few books from the shelves. His violin was gone. The skull was probably not the right thing to bring back. But what was this? A photo album by the looks of it. Black leather, with a silver S emblazoned on the front. Mycroft placed the books on Sherlock's armchair.

He picked up the album, opening it a few pages in. Several photos adorned each side, all or most of John and Sherlock together. Others were of one, or the other, photographed by themselves or with other people. Here was Sherlock and Lestrade, the Inspector smiling broadly, the detective sulking. Here was John and Lestrade, both smiling, both in football colours. Both clearly very drunk. Here was Molly and Sherlock at the latter's birthday party. Here was John and Sherlock laughing, John asleep in his chair, computer still resting in his lap.

"I made that for him, well, I was working on it when he..um. You're welcome to take it dear."

Mycroft turned, placing the album on the small pile of books. He'd been caught. "You don't mind? I just thought.. I mean I wanted to take some things from his home, I know John has most of his more treasured possensions. I just-"

Mrs Hudson moved over towards the tall, suited man and patted his arm. "It's alright dear. You miss him. I don't know why you haven't been over here sooner"

"I thought, perhaps I wasn't welcome. But, this morning I just had the overwhelming urge to come over." Mrs Hudson's eyes became misty. "You poor dear. Everyone thinks of John, but they forget about you don't they dear? I suppose all John's books have been making you think of him again, haven't they?"

"Yes. Thank you for this. I better go. Late for a meeting." He gave her a smile, a sad one. She seemed to believe his story. Thank goodness for that. How would you explain getting books for a dead man?

* * *

_He's at the grave again. You told us you wanted to be up to date with his movements while with the children -A_

_Thank you. This is perfect. I need to see him. -MH_

* * *

"You didn't have to come, or bring them"

"John, I told you before you don't have to go through this alone. Plus you missed the last visit because you got an infection from one of your wounds. The children don't mind. You know they love the stories you've been reading to them from the book." John smiled wistfully before walking towards the grave.

* * *

John caressed the head of James and Lily as they began to leave the cemetary. But something or someone caught his eye. A familiar figure sitting on a bench, umbrella resting against the side. "Look you three walk on ahead. I need to see someone"

"John?"

He continued walking, his hands in his pockets. John stopped in front of Mycroft, taking in his appearance and the album on his lap. "Fancy seeing you here"

"Hello John"

He looked up and John could see deep bags under his eyes, the sadness of his expression. His quick eyes, although never as quick as Sherlock's, noticed the rumbled suit, the tea stain on the coat, the way his hands fidgeted as one held the umbrella handle, the other the album. John sat himself down next to Mycroft.

"What are you doing here? You're never here."

"I wanted to see how you were getting on with the twins."

"Liar"

Mycroft cleared his throat, opening the album. John's own throat tightened at the sight of familiar photos. "You get that from Mrs Hudson?" Mycroft nodded, one finger tracing Sherlock's laughing face. "You ok?" Mycroft raised an elegant eyebrow. "Of course"

"You don't look ok"

"I assure you I'm fine." He clenched the umbrella handle tightly. "You always have an umbrella, even if it's not raining. It's like you're attached to the thing." John attempted to change the subject. Mycroft smiled slightly, his eyes sad. "It was a gift. From Sherlock, when he was a child." It was John's turn to raise his eyebrows. "Oh. I'm sorry, I didn't know"

"No one does"

It suddenly stuck John that the man beside him was utterly alone. He'd lost his brother, his only family. Alone for every Christmas dinner, birthday, any sort of holiday. Everyone felt sorry for John, did anyone stop and think about Mycroft?

"He melted my old one, when he was a child"

"He melted...your umbrella?" Mycroft smiled morosely.

"It was an experiment." John chuckled. "Of course it was."

"I got a cold, from being caught in the rain without one and the devilish scamp felt terrible and brought me a new one. This one in fact. I've kept it all these years"

"Why?"

"I like it...sentiment"

"Oh."

John looked over to his best friend's grave, his eyes stinging. "I never heard much about his childhood." Mycroft nodded, following his gaze. "It wasn't exactly an enjoyable one." John turned to look at Mycroft. "Oh. I'm sorry"

"Don't be. Father's fault really. I was the golden boy. Sherlock was the dreamer, the adventurer. He and father never got along. I remember one time, back in high school, there was a tryout for the schools football team. Father insisted Sherlock try out. Said he was too...'delicate'. Silly really, he always had a lithe frame. Got it from mother." John nodded, listening intently.

"Sherlock of course had no desire, he thought football rather stupid. I quite agree, no offence John"

"Oh, none taken. To each his own."

"Yes..quite. Anyway, to get our father off his back. He tried out. Deliberately being as terrible as possible. The other players of course, disliked his intellect, disliked him and decided to teach him a lesson. Needless to say he spent a few weeks in traction as a result. Father never spoke of it again. But he and Sherlock were never quite tolerable of one another after that. Sherlock was a bit of a rebel" Another sad smile and a slight chuckle at the last line from John.

"Oh. Thats not good at all. Did he play any sports?" John was suddenly eager to learn more about his late friend. The elder, no, the only Holmes nodded. "Fencing, horse riding, martial arts of course." None of those surprised John.

"I regret us falling out." Mycroft had no idea why he just said that. Perhaps in light of recent events he felt the need to mention it too someone. But he had no one.

"Yes, how did that happen?"

"I left home. I left him alone."

"Oh. I thought there was more too it."

"Yes and no, it started with that and we just, gradually drifted apart. I regret that now. Maybe if we hadn't he'd still.." He was going to say, still himself but left it at that, knowing John would think otherwise. John bit his lip, wiping a stray tear from his cheek.

"How are you injuries? Healing nicely I hope?"

"Yes, thank you. They are. Slowly though."

"Good, thats good, isn't it? And Mary, you and her are getting along well?"

It didn't surprise John in the least that Mycroft knew of this. "Yes, wonderfully. She is an amazing woman." Mycroft smiled sadly. "Good. Good. The children seem to adore you. It's not easy looking after someone else's child. I know from experience. I practically raised someone else's child."

"Oh? Really? Who?"

"Sherlock. Good day to you John. I hope to see you again soon."

"Yes.. yes of course. Any time. Thanks for the furniture by the way. The kids love the room and the toys and well everything" John stood, shaking the government official's hand. Mycroft smiled again and walked out of the cemetery, the album tucked under his arm.


	50. 50

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I let the people on FF.Net and Tumblr know, that you have probably missed something very important. That is all.

Molly sat outside her flat, two packages in her lap, anxiously waiting for Mycroft Holmes. A few hours ago he had called, informing her that Sherlock had been found, two weeks ago in fact. She had been so relieved. When he'd informed her that he was missing and to keep an eye out, she'd been incredibly worried. Sherlock was always getting himself into trouble. But now he was back home in London, everything was going to be ok.

"Miss Hooper?" She looked up to see a car waiting in front of her, the driver holding the door open. "Thank you" She slid inside next to Mycroft and Anthea, his tetris addict of an assistant. Mycroft gave her a slight smile as they drove off, his eyes looking curiously at her packages. "Oh, I thought maybe he'd like a welcome home gift or two...how is he?"

"..As well as can be expected. Given what he's been through"

"Which is? I mean you didn't say. You just said he'd been found"

"I'll explain later. We have to stop at the airport."

* * *

Another passenger later and they finally arrived back at Mycrofts home. Irene and Molly followed the man silently down the hallway until they came to Sherlock's room. "Wait here, I need to talk to him alone for a minute."

"Sherlock?" His brother turned his head, a newspaper in his lap, still on the window seat. "You have visitors." Sherlock returned his gaze to the paper, but Mycroft figured he wasn't really reading it. "I don't want any" He replied quietly. His voice was always soft spoken now. Like a whisper. Like he was afraid to speak. Or even raise his voice.

"You need new faces, Sherlock"

"No."

"They've missed you."

"I don't care."

"They're coming in anyway."

"Fine" No more arguments, just silent acceptance. Mycroft would rather he argued more.

* * *

"Please, don't ask too many questions about where he has been. He has flashbacks. They are not pleasant. Just keep your questions general and simple"

"But what..um, what has happened?" Molly enquired, worriedly biting her lip. Mycroft knew explanations were probably in order. "He was captured, by Moriarty" The two women gasped.

"Wait, he's alive?"

"Apparently so"

"Anyway, The Black Lotus, who Sherlock had encountered in the past, kept him locked in a windowless cell for almost 6 weeks. They..they tortured him, they drugged him, they treated him like filth. I won't go into too much detail right now. But.. when I found him...he was catatonic..a broken soul" Molly started to cry, tears slipping down her cheeks. Oh Sherlock. Irene tried to stay strong but the thought of that brilliant man, broken, almost caused her to follow Molly's response.

"He's back now but, he's changed. I'm worried, frankly, I'm worried this could be permanent. Right now the main concern is recovering from his numerous injuries and trying to bring back some of his old personality. Which is where you two come in."

"B-but what can we do?"

"Just be yourself"

* * *

Molly crept into Sherlock's room. It was dark and she almost missed the man sitting in the window seat. He was in his pale blue pyjamas, bandages easily seen beneath the blue shirt. They covered both arms and his feet were also bound. His face was marred with fading bruises around his nose, eyes and jaw. There was bruising around his neck too. He was curled against the wall, watching the clouds go by, a newspaper lying on the floor. Molly pulled over a chair from the elegant desk that sat on the other side of the large room, which was more a suite really, and placed it beside the window seat.

"Hello Sherlock" She tried to sound happy and optimistic. No response. She frowned but tried again. "It's nice to see you again, been awhile." Nothing. Was he ignoring her? "Um.. I brought you some presents."

"That wasn't necessary" She almost didn't hear that quiet voice. He still stared outside. "That doesn't matter, you're my friend, so I got you something to welcome you home." She placed the packages on his lap, noticing how he curled away from her hands. Oh Sherlock. If she ever got her hands on Jim, whom she thought had been dead, there would be hell to pay.

Sherlock picked up one package, he was actually pleased to see Molly. He just, didn't feel like saying much anymore. Being quiet and keeping to himself, became more than a force of habit but an act of survival that seared itself into his personality. Quiet he was safe, if he spoke or made a noise, he was punished. The package was small, unwrapping it he discovered a small wooden box, richly engraved with a skull, glittering black stones for eyes, engraved in the middle.

"Found it at a one of those second hand stores. I don't know if you have a use for it but it was nice and I just thought.." Sherlock did like it. He'd find a use for it. The other package was a little bigger and a lot softer. It turned out to be a deep, deep blue hoodie, with large silver wings on the back. Angel's wings. Smart Molly, clever Molly. His skull marked hoodie, though he liked it, was past it's use by date. He folded the hoodie and placed it at his feet on the seat, the box on top.

"Thank you" He whispered.

They spent another half hour in silence before Molly left, incredibly sad and worried for her dear friend.

* * *

Irene entered after Molly left, unsure what she'd find. She noted the tear tracks on the girl's cheeks and bit the inside of her cheek. The sufferer rested against the wall of the window seat, one hand tracing circles into the cold glass. Her eyes noticed the bandages, the paleness of skin, the bruises. She wished she could get her hands on the Black Lotus and Jim Moriarty, instantly regretting once more, ever getting involved with him.

She sat in Molly's vacated chair, watching the man. She didn't know what to say. How are you? Sounded silly and inconsiderate. Nice weather we're having, was false and Irene wasn't fond of small talk. Hello would have to do.

"Hello Sherlock" No reply. Mycroft warned her of that possibility. The person he spoke the most words to was his own brother. "It's nice to see you again, I was worried." Nothing. "Those gifts from Molly?" She moved to take a look but he used his foot to push them away from her.

"Don't you trust me?"

"No."

That hurt. But what hurt more was how he said it. Like a whisper, like he was afraid of raising his voice. It was said with uncertainty and almost regret. The poor man, so fragile and vulnerable. So much thinner than before. The last time she had seen him he had been happy, vibrant and healthy. The exact opposite to the man that sat in front of her.

She couldn't stand the silence, the expression on his face. She got up and left the room.

Sherlock didn't blame her.

* * *

That evening Mycroft entered his brothers suite quietly, noting the uneaten dinner, the fact that his brother had still not left his post. Mycroft sat down on one of the couches that were placed in front of the bed and opened the photo album.

"I saw John today" Sherlock turned his head, watching his brother curiously. He only really responded to Mycroft. Mycroft was the only person he trusted completely. Strange, considering Mycroft got his brother into this whole mess.

"He was quite well, recovering from his own injuries, though they are much better than yours now. But then his were instant, yours were more...continuous. He's babysitting his girlfriend's niece and nephew. Adorable children really, fatherhood suits him." Mycroft flicked through the pages, noting his brother's shadow leaving the window seat and moving to sit next to his brother.

"Was he happy?"

"Yes, we talked about you a bit, about your childhood."

"Does..does he miss me?" Mycroft looked at his brother with bemusement. "Of course he does dear brother. Almost near tears a few times while we were talking." Sherlock poked the album. "From Mrs Hudson, she made one for John too, she never got a chance to give you yours. Lovely woman" Sherlock took the book from his brother and opened it. So many photos, so many memories. John. Sherlock felt a tear slide down one cheek as he turned the pages slowly. John, Mrs Hudson, Lestrade, Molly... So many memories but why did that make him sad?

"You'll see them again"

"...They won't want to see me"

"What makes you say that?"

"I'm different. Not..depressed, not disturbed, but..different."

"I know, we'll fix it"

"You can't fix it." He turned the page to a large photo of John and the detective laughing. His eyes mistied over again, tear drops falling onto the plastic. Strong arms pulled him to the side and Sherlock sobbed into his brother's suit.

"What's wrong with me?"

"You miss them. You miss him. And you've been through a lot. Too much. But I'm here for you. Molly and Irene are as well. They're staying here for a few nights."

"I don't want them. I want John" His voice muffled, his face still pressed against his brother's chest.

"I know, Sherlock. I know. You'll see him again. Hopefully this will all be over soon."

"He'll hate me"

"He could never hate you."

"I'd hate me"

"You're not John." He held his brother tight, pulling out his handkerchief from his breast pocket and gently wiped his brother's face. "Blow" Sherlock blew into the square of fabric. Mycroft gently wiped his nose and handed the handkerchief to his brother. "Will you be alright tonight?" Sherlock shook his head.

He had a lot of nightmares, a lot of sleepless nights. Mycroft always made a point of asking if he wanted to sleep alone or with Mycroft in the room. Mycroft usually slept on a couch but occasionally he'd shared the bed with his sibling. Because after a nightmare he usually needed calming down, someone to soothe his pain, physical and emotional. Someone to assure him he was not alone, not in his cell and not a freak or animal. Sometimes Sherlock just needed someone there, because it made him feel safe. The only person he accepted to do this task was Mycroft.

* * *

Mycroft left to get changed into his own pyjamas, returning to the room with a pile of blankets. Sherlock was already in bed, curled on his side, facing outward. Mycroft slid underneath the sheets placing the fresh blanket over the top of them.

"Good night Sherlock. Sweet dreams"

His brother was already asleep, safe in the belief his brother was there to protect him.

Sleep well little brother.


	51. 51

_It is with a heavy heart that I sit at my computer to write down the final case I ever shared with my best friend, Sherlock Holmes. When I first began to write down our adventures it had been my intention to leave out this particular tale. I wished not to mention this particular event, that has left such a hole in my life these nine months. However, in light of his name being cleared and myself feeling I can now tell his version of events, I have to decided to write his last case, exactly as they occurred. Many have speculated on what might have happened but very few people in this world, truly know the full and correct version of events. Which is why it is left to me to explain what really took place between one James Moriarty and Sherlock Holmes._

That seemed an adequate beginning to John. It had taken him almost an hour to type. He wasn't sure why but typing out just the introduction had left him feeling emotionally drained. He knew what was to come, what he would eventually have to write. He only hoped he did it justice, him justice. There were some parts he knew could never write, because he had not been there. But he did have Sherlock's phone recording, so there at least he could explain what happened during his friend's last moments.

It had taken him nine months, twelve days, twenty hours and thirty minutes for him to have the courage to write out Sherlock's last case, badly titled The Reichenbach Fall. Because in John's mind there had been two falls. Sherlock's fall from grace, thanks to the media, Moriarty and Scotland Yard, and Sherlock's more permanent descent. Sipping his tea, he took a deep breath and continued typing.

\------

"Seb?"

"Sebby?"

"Sebtacular?"

"Sebalicious?"

"Seb-Seb?"

"...Sebastian?"

"What?"

"My video footage come yet?"

"On the table."

"Finally!"

"Don't get your hopes up, I heard on the grape vine that he got rescued."

"You know I can't hear you when you have a ciggerette in your month Seb darling"

"You know I only answer to one name"

"Honey? Darling? Dear?"

"You're an idiot"

"But you love me anyway"

"God no"

\-----

Later Sebastian could hear Jim's gleeful laughter as he watched the consulting detective cowering in a corner crying Dr. Watson's name. They had doped him up on the drug used in Project H.O.U.N.D, Jim had obtained it personally from one of the original manufacturers. He considered it a worth while investment. Sebastian wished he would pay this much attention to his dwindling empire. Jim was fraying at the edges, obsessed even more with Sherlock Holmes. Hopefully it would pass. Soon. But at least the money was good. And he was strangely fond of the psychopath.

\------

Molly and Irene had been staying with the Holmes brothers for three days now. Sherlock seemed to change very little. He still wore his pyjamas every day in lieu of regular clothes. Molly speculated that this is because they were more comfortable on his injuries and that Sherlock had always been somewhat of a lazy person. Today however it was chilly, the fireplace in Sherlock's room didn't seem to warm him very much. Which was why he was currently wearing the hoodie Molly had brought him. It brought it's own warmth to Molly's heart to see him wear it.

The four of them were together in Sherlock's bedroom suite. Mycroft sitting on the couch reading The Lost World, Irene and Molly were playing canasta. Sherlock sat in his usual place, arms folded against his chest, legs folded by his side. Mycroft had changed the dressings just that morning. It was never a pleasant experience for either of them.

"Now that you're back in London..are you here to stay Sherlock? Will you reveal you're alive?" Molly looked up from her cards, the thought suddenly jumping into her mind. Sherlock looked to Mycroft, with a slightly hopeful expression in his eyes. But he knew the answer. He couldn't reveal himself until the whole empire was down and he and his friends safety were assured. So he wasn't surprised to see Mycroft shake his head.

"It is not yet safe. For him, for them or for the two of you. My men are good at their jobs but not as quick as you, unfortunately. It may take several more months. The rest of Asia must be swept clean of his empire, as will South America, the United States as a few strands of his web and then finally, England itself. However hopefully, Sherlock might like to deal with the portion of the web himself. Once he is better" Mycroft looked to his little brother, offering him this gift. Sherlock pondered it for some time before giving a short nod and went back to his sky viewing.

Molly looked sad. "Thats too bad, John would love to see you." Sherlock shook his head. "John think's I'm dead." Molly smiled. "That doesn't mean he wouldn't want to see you. I wish you could let him know you're alive." Sherlock sighed deeply. "I did tell him, he just didn't pay attention." Mycroft put down his book, Molly's mouth fell open in surprise, Irene simple smirked.

"I thought I explicitly told you not to tell anyone! And this was your opinion also!"

"Relax Mycroft. I told him but I disguised it. Thats the best way to hide something. It's hidden in plain sight. But I guess he didn't see through it. Doesn't matter, I still kept my promise." Sherlock although very quiet, soft spoken and not himself, had begun to speak more since Irene and Molly's arrival.

"Well, you better hope no one else discovers it."

"If they did it would mean nothing to them."

"You better hope so"

\-----

_Few words may suffice to tell the little that remains. Expert analysis of his phone proves the recording was real. My best friend sacrificed his life to save myself, Mrs Hudson and the Detective Inspector. It had taken months for his name to be cleared and in the end it was by the hand of my closest friend. He cleared his own name, as he should. My heart is eased only slightly by making a clear statement on his career and our last adventure._

_I shall forever regard him as the best and wisest man I have ever known and I will always believe in him._

John's head fell into his open palms, finally letting loosing the tears and emotion that had been threatening to fall during these long hours of writing. It was done, he had finally written about his best friend's death. But it didn't make him feel any better. He had been forced to relieve those terrible moments again and again. And now it was written down for the whole world to see.

"Why are you crying Uncle John?" Lily's hand found his own, John jumped in surprise, wiping his nose with one hand and squeezing Lily's with the other. "Just thinking honey. Just writing a story and thinking."

"Thinking makes you cry?"

"Depends on what you think about."

"A story? About Mr Sherlock?"

"Yes honey" He pulled her into his lap. "His last story. The one that made him a hero. I'll tell it too you one day when you're older. It's not for some children's eyes to read. But I can tell you another story? It's got ninja's and comic books in it?"

"Oh yes please!"

"Very well. The Geek Interpreter it is"


	52. 52

_They say an invisible scarlet thread joins those destined to meet, regardless of the time, the place or the circumstance. The thread may tangle or stretch but it will never break. My best friend, to whom this and all books are dedicated once told me, "There's a scarlet thread of murder running through the colourless skein of life, and our duty is to unravel it, and isolate it, and expose every inch of it"_

_Two threads of scarlet bound us together and although one has broken, the other will never break or snap. Even though he is gone, we will still be forever bound by this invisible scarlet thread. I used to worry what people would think, I'm not gay but I did love Sherlock Holmes. He was my flatmate, my best friend, my brother and I am not ashamed to admit that._

_This was the hardest book to write. Because of the final story. The final problem, puzzle for Sherlock Holmes. I hope I have done both it and him justice._

_Till Hounds,_

_John H. Watson._

_\-----_

"What did the publisher say, John?"

"Not much, she cried mostly. She's looking forward to Hounds, which I better finish, god knows Memoirs has taken me forever" Mary moved to sit next to the love of her life. "Understandably, it was an emotional story. When you read it to me the other night, I cried too. Oh John..you must miss him so much. You write about him so beautifully and with such emotion." John felt tears sting his eyes and pulled her close. "Yes I do miss him, very much. Though this whole book thing, he probably would have hated it. I mean he hated my blogging."

"Yes I remember you saying"

John gave quiet chuckle. "And yet he was constantly interested in what I was writing. I think he was flattered. But annoyed that the cases came through my site and not his. Though.. I lied" Mary looked up into his eyes, content in her position against John's chest. "About what?" John looked away, smiling, sadness in his eyes. "I told him no one reads his blog. Well, people did obviously. But I read his blog. How else would I know about his 240 types of tobacco ash. No..wait 243." Mary caressed his arm.

"Do.. do you mind?"

"Mind what?"

"When I talk about him, write about him. Do..do you mind? You aren't jealous? I mean we weren't a couple, no matter what anyone else thinks but..whenever I tried to have a relationship with a woman, it never lasted, because, well I guess because my friendship with Sherlock Holmes was stronger."

"Oh John" Mary turned in his arms and kissed him, wrapping her arms around him. "Of course I don't mind. You cared about him so much, the sort of friendship you two had was very rare. How could I ever hate you or be jealous of such a thing? You love me don't you?"

"More than anything"

"Than thats all that matters, my brave soldier. So stop worrying."

"Is that an order?"

A smile, a cheeky grin. "Thats right soldier" She tapped his nose. John saluted her with his free hand and then stroked her cheek. "Permission to snog?"

"Granted."

\---- 

Sebastian constantly worried about the mind or rather sanity of his employer. Day by day, week by week he seemed to be unravelling, his mind fraying. His empire was falling, taken down piece by piece, brick by brick, till soon only the foundation would remain. But all Jim was concerned about was Sherlock Holmes. Sebastian had hoped, turning him over to the Black Lotus would be the end of it. Yes, he had agreed that they might take him in once he was throughly broken and then decapitate, or slash his throat, in front of his friends. But that had never happened. No, Jim got distracted and Sherlock got rescued. Sebastian could only hope he never recovered from his ordeal.

There was a loud smashing sound, coming from the living room. The sniper put down his rifle, and polishing cloth, and took out his hand gun, running towards Jim. The television lay smashed against the floor, the consulting criminal sitting cross legged in his chair in front of it. Completely calm, despite the blood that trickled down his cheek.

"Jim?"

"Oh hello Seb, could you get me another glass of wine?" Sebastian took the empty glass, pouring his employer his desired drink and handing him back the glass. "What did you do with the telly?" Jim's hand went up to his cheek, one finger wiping away the red liquid. He then placed said digit in his mouth, sucking off the blood. Jim then sipped his wine and smiled sweetly.

"I disagreed with it"

\----

_Dear Normund,_

_I haven't heard from you in some time. Your blog is still regularly updated but you have not sent me any new mail. Have I offended you? I can't think how I could have but sometimes things can get lost in translation. I hope you aren't ignoring me or have given up on writing. I hope that you are simply busy or even better that perhaps you have found your friend._

_Im not sure if you got either of my books. I hope you did, I would love to know what you thought. Feedback is always helpful. I have just finished my third. It was supposed to be The Hounds of Baskerville but I had been working on another at the same time. Writing a little story here and there. But it was never able to be finished. Until now. Cause the bloody final story, I just couldn't write it. Every time I tried something stopped me._

_But it's done now. When it's published, do you want me to send it to you? Please let me know you're ok. I worry, I lost one friend and Im not willing to lose another._

_John Watson._

_\-----_

"He's sent you another email. Do you want to reply to this one?" Sherlock glanced over at the computer sitting on the desk. "What does it say?" Mycroft quickly read out the contents. "He's worried about you, or rather Normund, think's he's offended you." Oh John I should never have contacted you. "No." Molly looked surprised, as did Mycroft and Irene.

"You're just going to ignore him? He might suspect something!"

"Relax Mycroft, theres a box on the bedside table. Get it for me." Mycroft stood, striding over to the bedside table, pleased his brother was talking more and beginning to sound like his old self. Still quiet, still soft spoken but his stubbornness and rudeness was beginning to seep through. Mycroft picked up the small deep red box. It was covered in fabric, a rich tapestry of colour stitched into the red. Obviously Chinese and the strange chiming that he heard as he walked, told him what they were.

Irene's eyebrows rose. "The monks gave you those.."

"Give them to John. Write a note or something. Package them as if they were from China...please Mycroft."

"Are you sure about this?"

"Yes." No.

"Very well"

\-----

A few days later John received a package in the mail. It was from China. Excitement and confusion swept through him. He wandered inside with the parcel, Lily and James jumping up and down asking him what was inside. The whole family, because it felt like a family to John, crowded around the doctor as he opened the package. A small red fabric box lay inside with a note sitting on the top.

_John,_

_Thank you for the books. I hope this will do in response. They are from an old monastery and at least one hundred years old. Well loved and well used._

_N.S_

_:)_

John smiled and put the note in his jacket pocket before opening the little cloth box. Nestled inside on smooth red velvet, were two Chinese worry balls. Silver, decorated intricately with dancing dragons. John picked one up, listening and feeling it chime in his hand. Thanks Normund, these are just what I needed. How on earth did you know? But you always seem to know the right thing to say to cheer me up.

\-----

_Well, it's done, I finally wrote it. The Reichenbach Fall. The story about Sherlock's..fall. About his death, finally the true story has been told. It will come out in The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes, it's the last story in the book. Once this is released I'll finish Hounds. My publisher has talked about a book launch, thats something to look forward to._

_Thanks for your kind words and support and hope you all enjoy reading the books._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you figure out what Sherlock meant in the previous chapter PM me and Ill tell you if you are correct or not.


	53. 53

It was a silver tray and broken glass that undid Sherlock Holmes. The elderly butler had brought the four, refreshments. Sandwiches and juice. Orange juice in delicate, clear glasses, crustless sandwiches arranged prettily on a large plate, each with it's own coloured toothpick. The butler moved forward to place them on the coffee table, tripping on an upturned section of a rug. Sherlock had flinched and curled inward. Loud sounds, Mycroft had observed, had always caused such a reaction. He helped the old man from the floor. The sandwiches were salvageable. Mycroft called for fresh glasses and a mop. He handed Sherlock a fresh glass of juice and watched him closely. Sherlock's hands shook, sipping it very little.

He turned to place it onto the small table that had been dragged to stand beside him, his shaking hands suddenly dropping the glass onto the carpet, shattering it into a hundred pieces. Sherlock stared at it for several seconds before curling into a ball, his hands over his ears. The strangest and smallest things can send one into back into the past, Sherlock had mused the last time this had happened. Even things that seemed unrelated could trigger a flashback. In Sherlock's case, the dropping of a tray, a loud sound, had started things off, causing him to become skittish and jumpy again, and then his own accident had triggered the flashback that had caused him to curl into the foetal position and beg forgiveness.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it, It was an accident. I'm sorry!" No talking. Mustn't talk. It was an accident. Just an accident. Won't be punished. Right? Shit. Shit shit shit. Don't hurt me, please don't hurt me. I'll be good. I promise. He began to rock back and forth, muttering to himself. Any time he did something wrong back in China, he would be punished, even if it was accidental. In the end it had become a habit to apologise for everything, even though he was forbidden to speak. His brain had sent him back into the small cell. All because of a glass and a tray.

Mycroft recognised the symptoms immediately, having had to deal with these many times since Sherlock's return. He ordered everyone out of the room, reminding himself to apologise to them once this was over. He sat on the window seat and grabbed Sherlock's hands, which were curled into fists and pressed tightly against his ears. "Sherlock, Sherlock look at me" Sherlock shook his head, continuing to rock and shake. "Sherlock Holmes, listen to me! You are not in the cell, you are in my house, you are safe. Please, snap out of this." Sherlock seemed to curl tighter into himself and sob, and Mycroft could only hold his brother close and hoped he came back to his senses soon.

"Sssh, it's ok. You're safe"

"Im sorry"

"You have nothing to apologise for. Sssh, don't cry. Come on, you're a Holmes. Where's that stiff upper lip?" Sherlock let out a sob but lifted his head, wiping his nose. "D-don't be ridiculous. Don't have one of t-those." Mycroft gave him a small smile and another hug. "You alright now?" Sherlock paused and then nodded. "Good" Mycroft sighed in relief. "Feel up to eating?". His little brother shook his curly head, his arms wrapping tightly around his legs once more. "Take a deep breath, good, thats good."

"C-can I go outside?"

Mycroft raised his eyebrows. Sherlock never requested anything. He had barely moved from his window seat, granted that could be due to his injured legs. "Now?". His baby brother nodded. "I haven't been outside for ages. I miss it...please Mycroft?" How could he refuse that face and the quiet request? "Of course. Let me get you something warmer to put on" He hunted around the room for that blue hoodie. It was under the bed, for some odd reason. He pulled it out and handed it to his brother, who quickly slipped it over his head. Mycroft picked up Sherlock's new cane, his brother was still unsteady on his feet, and handed it to his little brother.

Sherlock took it gratefully and clambered off the window seat, wobbling slightly, his legs unsteady as always. His brother shot out his arm, grabbing Sherlock's shoulder to stabilise him and the two walked out of the room slowly, the younger Holmes leaning heavily on the elder.

\----

"Its been several months since our last session. Did something happen?"

"No, not really. I..I finally wrote about it."

"About what John?" About travelling to the moon. What do you think?

"..About his death"

"And how did that make you feel?" Was that the best she could do? How does that make you feel?

"I thought it would make me feel better, to get it off my chest"

"But?"

"I don't feel any different. I thought maybe writing it all down would show me if I missed anything, if I could have done anything. But it didn't."

"But do you think, in the long run, it will help?" No, not really.

"I don't know. Maybe. I guess it's nice to get it off my chest and show the world what really happened."

"How are things with you and Mary?"

"Great, really great. She's wonderful. We're looking after her niece and nephew. Makes me long for children of my own."

"Do you think that will happen some day?"

"Maybe, not sure if I'm the father type, but it might be nice. Mary want's kids.. so maybe who knows. She is so supportive of everything. I don't deserve it"

"Do you really believe that? Do you still blame yourself?" Yes.

"Not as much as I used too."

"And what about the blog, are you still writing on it as well?"

"Everyone now and then. I started sending emails back and forth with one of the fans of my blog."

"And how is that going?"

"Well, he has responded in a while, but I like him. I mean he understands how I feel, he also lost someone. He travels a lot, in fact he just sent me a gift from China. He seems like a really nice, caring man. Even though we've never met I feel like he's become a good friend."

"Thats great John. I adivse you to keep writing if you can. Do you still visit your friends grave?"

"Sometimes. When I can. I work part time at the practice and help out Lestrade, medical wise though. Sometimes after a hard days work I might go visit his grave. I hate it though." Stupid piece of rock.

"Tell me"

"It's just.. I hate it. It's stupid, it's just a piece of black marble with his name on it but it tears me up inside just to look at it. Well it used too. I guess every time I visit I get more and more used to it. Sometimes it just doesn't seem real. I know why he did it now. But it doesn't help. Im the soldier, I should have been there to protect him. Instead the last time we were face to face I insulted him. Then he ended up killing himself to save three people." Hero's do exist Sherlock. And you were one of them.

"You wish you could have changed places"

"God yes, I mean.. not the way that sounded. I don't have a death wish. ..But if I could protect him that way I would have, without a second."

"That much loyalty? Even after all this time?"

"Yeah."

Always.

\---

The two sat side by side on a bench, overlooking the pond in Mycroft's back yard. Sherlock sat hugging his leg, Mycroft sat beside him, unsure of what to say. Sherlock began to feed the ducks. "You know that was supposed to be your lunch" Sherlock continued to throw the bread crumbs. "Not hungry" Mycroft sighed. "You never are but now its never been more important for you to eat. You were half starved when I found you. You are still too thin for my liking." His brother stiffened. He disliked any mention of that place.

"We have to talk about it sometime"

"No"

"Sherlock..."

"I can't"

"Sherlock, please. We can take this slowly, but you shouldn't keep it all to yourself. I want to help you. Please let me help you. Do you have any idea how I felt when I finally found you? You weren't there Sherlock, your body was but your mind wasn't. I though I'd failed you. I had failed you Sherlock. And then I brought back your broken body and hope you would come back to me. But nothing I did or said would, in the end it was John that brought you back. Sometimes I wish we weren't so far apart, perhaps I could have helped you sooner" Mycroft sighed, running his hand through his neat hair. Sherlock felt a tear sting his eye. He knew Mycroft worried, but it was clear his brother blamed himself for everything and the guilt was eating him up inside. That wasn't right, Mycroft was always so strong.

"Mycroft.."

"Where did I go wrong Sherlock? I never meant for this to happen. I..I thought I lost you once but I got you back only to lose you again. Am I that bad a brother?" Mycoft seemed to not be addressing Sherlock at all, but himself. Mycroft wasn't like this, he was strong, stoic, calm. Not this. He seemed stressed, very stressed. Sherlock didn't know what to do. You have always been a git, but you're not that bad Myc..

"But..I'm back now." I think.

"Yes but it's not the same.." It might never be again, don't you see Sherlock?

"Sorry?"

"...Don't say that. It's not your fault!" Mycroft's hair tumbled forward, no longer in it's neat style. Sherlock flinched. Mycroft widened his eyes. "I'm sorry.. I shouldn't have yelled. I'm not good at this Sherlock. Im not sure what I'm supposed to do. I always know what to do.." Sherlock placed a nervous hand on Mycroft's shoulder, which seemed to calm him a little. "Do you forgive me? I understand if you don't or if you hate me.." I will never forgive myself.

"You're an idiot"

"I..what?"

"Stop blaming yourself, please. One of us needs to be strong and it can't be me right now." Mycroft almost smiled. For a moment he really had sounded like his old self. Sherlock was right. He needed to pull himself back together. For his brother. The elder Holmes nodded, brushing back his hair. Sherlock studied him for a moment and then let go of his arm.

"Do you think I'm broken, Mycroft? Or can I put the pieces back together?"

"Of course you can. I'll fix things, I promise"

"..Maybe I need a doctor" The tiniest of smiles seemed to tug at his lips. Mycroft wished he could give him what he wanted. He wished he could help him like John could. But too much had happened between them. Things seemed to be slowly healing but it had to take something horrible for it to happen.

"One day Sherlock."

"Soon?" Please don't sound so hopeful..

"I hope so" God I hope so.

They sat in silence for a little while, watching the birds, watching the sky grow darker. Sherlock turned his head up to view them, his face lighting up for a few short minutes. "Aren't they beautiful, Mycroft?"

"Yes they are dear brother. Yes they are"


	54. 54

"Sir, I have the files you asked for.." Sally stood in the open doorway, a large accumulation of colourful folders in her hands. "Just put them on the desk thanks, Donovan" Sally did as she was ordered, staring at her boss with concern. There was something in her voice that had made her give him a second look. "Are you ok Sir?" Lestrade glanced up at her, confusion sweeping across his face. "What? Oh, yeah, I'm fine, don't worry. Just, this." He gestured to his computer screen but it faced away from Sally. "What Sir?"

"John, he's finally written up his last case with Sherlock"

"Oh.." She wasn't sure how she felt about that. No doubt she would be painted rather harshly, but she deserved it.

"Yeah."

"I though he was working on some dog book?"

"Hounds? Yeah but he's been working on this other book for ages, just could never bring himself to type up the final story.." Poor bloke, don't blame him. Bloody brave to write it up though.

"I see." I wish I could tell him I'm sorry. Not John, Sherlock. Too late now. Far too late.

"Yeah. After this he'll finish Hounds then he's gonna have a book launch" Lestrade looked excited for the doctor, a smile flashing. "He's really good at this. Don't know where he finds the time though, between doing odd jobs for us, working part time at that practice and looking after a pair of twins. Suppose he feels better if he's busy." Sally simply nodded, there was nothing she could really bring herself to say.

"Will that be all Sir?"

"What? Oh, yeah. Oh! Did I tell you the good news? I think you were out."

"Good news Sir?"

"You know how I got engaged to that girl of mine, few months back?" It had been kept quiet, he did not want her roped into the harsh eyes of the press. He'd met her way before he and his wife divorced but after he'd discovered her cheating for the first time.. A few months ago he'd popped the question and she had said yes. He hadn't been so happy in a long time. Sally gave a hesitant smile.

"Yes Sir"

"She's pregnant. About a month along, we only just found out"

"That's wonderful Sir! I guess it's too early to tell if it will be a girl or a boy" Lestrade beamed broadly. "Yeah just a bit, but they've taken a guess. They think they know what it will be" Sally felt very happy for the Inspector. There had been precious few happy moments in the Yard lately. Or in Lestrade's only life, except his girlfriend of course. "A secret I guess?" Lestrade shrugged. "Not really. Told John anyway, Mycroft Holmes knew before I did. Not surprised. It'll probably be a boy. Already got a name picked out. Now that, I am keeping a secret."

Sally smiled once more. Her boss had always wanted children. He and his previous wife had tried. But with no luck. Possibly why their marriage had fallen apart. "Thats great Sir, it really is. Let me know when there's a baby shower, I'll have to buy a present for the little one." Lestrade shook his head, still grinning. "You don't have too, but I will let you know. It's funny, I always wanted a kid. Didn't realise I had one before it was too late. Now it looks like I'll have a second chance." Sally could feel a strange sensation in her throat and swallowed. She knew who he meant. She didn't miss the fleeting look of sadness in his eyes.

"Before you go. That new Inspector reported in yet? Whats his name... Clarky?"

"Not yet Sir. I'll send him here as soon as he does. And Greg?..Congratulations"

"Thanks Sally"

\-----

He watched her leave, picking up the photo of his fiance and stroking her face. A son. Oh he couldn't wait. He'd been nervous about names. But they'd been talking long before this. It hadn't been planned but it had been a wonderful surprise. She'd agreed on his choice of name. Like John, he was lucky to have found such a lovely, understanding and supportive woman.

_Rupert Sherlock Lestrade._

Because if it wasn't for Sherlock, Lestrade would not be here today. Sherlock Holmes had saved his life, it was only fitting he name his first born after the fallen detective. When the kid was born, he'd take him to meet Sherlock. Sighing the Inspector placed the photo back down. His eyes turning to a rare group photo taken by Mrs Hudson. It was of John, Sherlock, Lestrade, Sally and that looked like Anderson cut off on the right side. John was smiling, always happy. Sherlock was scowling. Lestrade was grinning and Sally looked like she'd smelt something disgusting.

Shit kid. Didn't realise I already had a son till I lost you. Its strange isn't it? That you don't know how much you care about someone until they're gone. God I remember the first time we met. I arrested you, you were as high as a kite. So bloody young. You deduced the hell out of my life and the murder case I'd been working on. You kept hanging around crime scenes, putting in your two cents worth, until I finally told you, clean up or get out. You were less than impressed, said a few choice words you later regretted and then I punched your lights out.

From then on I think you respected me. Sort of. Doesn't matter. I knew you cared in your own little way. Just never knew you'd go so far as to give up your life to save mine. You were so young. Life is so cruel. Shit son.

\-----

_To John,_

_Forgive me for not writing sooner. A lot of things have happened. Bad things, terrible things. I'm not sure if I should tell you, you don't really need to know. Plus I wish not to worry you. But something horrible happened to me and that is the reason for me not replying. Please forgive me._

_I just, I can't talk to my family. I try to tell them but I can't get it out. Perhaps I am too stubborn. Perhaps I am just too afraid. They want to know what's happened, they guess much of it, but I just, I just can not say it. I am no longer the man I was. Worse still I fear I never will be again. It's like a piece of me is missing, floating just out of my reach. Every time I try to grab it, it moves further away._

_What do I do? I feel lost. I feel broken. Please can you help me? You are a doctor, you were once a soldier. Did you ever have to look after Prisoners of War? I can not tell my brother, I can not tell my sister. Please, can you give me some advice? Will you do that for me?_

_Your worried friend,_

_Normund_

_P.S. I hope you received my package. I sent it awhile ago. Hope it arrived safely._

_ \----  _

It had been only through constant pushing and prodding, that Sherlock had finally written to John. He didn't want to worry his friend. He was fearful he wouldn't even care. Even though he didn't know who the email was really from. What if John had forgotten him? What if he just didn't care anymore? He pushed this familiar fears aside. Mycroft was concerned that it would hurt John more if he didn't reply. Plus he felt there was only so much he could do when Sherlock felt it difficult to confide. The doctors had been to see him the day before, his physical injuries were healing slowly but the doctors were still pleased with his progress. They had advised Mycroft to give him time, not to pressure him too much. Mycroft suspected that Sherlock was trying to spare his brother the knowledge, but Mycroft had seen the wounds, the scars, he could make an estimated guess.

"Done?" His sibling nodded from his place on the couch. Mycroft sat in the opposite chair, Sherlock turned to lay on his side. "It was Moriarty wasn't it?" Sherlock yawned and raised a black eyebrow. "I thought you already knew" Mycroft shook his head. "I know he was involved. Did he take you?" Sherlock nodded, recalling clearly the night he was taken and thrown in a box. " Did you see him much?" This took longer to answer because Sherlock's memory on a lot of things were a bit sketchy. "A few times yes."

"Did he, torture you?" Sherlock visibly flinched and curled inwards. "Yes" he whispered. Mycroft sighed and poured himself a glass of water. "As I suspected. I wish to get my hands on him and.."

"And what?"

"Nothing you need to know. Well.. I don't often say this about people, dear brother. But I want that man dead. More than anything. And I will do whatever I can to make it happen. Mark my words." Sherlock nodded. He believed his brother. He wasn't one to lie. He'd have Moriarty killed.

"Mycroft?"

"Hmm?"

"I..I want to help"

"Help with what?" Not the killing, I don't want, can't have you near that man again.

"Taking down whats left of his web. I promise I won't leave London. But..I want to help"

"Far too dangerous. I won't allow it. You could be recognised"

"Please. I am good at disgusies and they expect me to be a broken mess." Which I am somewhat. "I want to help, not sit here and feel sorry for myself. Maybe it will help me. Don't make me beg, brother" Mycroft rubbed his temple. "Ill think about it. Alright?" His baby brother nodded. "Good. Now, please will you eat something. You're skin and bones Sherlock." The detecitve gave a resigned nod and his older brother rang a small bell. "Finally. Stubborness runs strong in your blood Sherlock. How like mother."

"I miss her" Sentiment.

"So do I. I miss them both"

"I don't"

"Sherlock!"

"He was horrible to me."

"But he loved you. He regretted his treatment of you. I know he did, he told me as such on his deathbed." Sherlock shrugged. His relationship with his father had always been strained. Especially after Mycroft left him to his mercy.

"Now eat up, or I'll make them hook you up to the IV again. I do not want you fainting anymore."

"You worry far too much than is healthy"

"Not my fault."

"Yes it is"

"Eat"

"I am eating"

"Good"


	55. 55

Sherlock grimaced from his place on the couch, as Irene brushed back his messy locks. She was sorely tempted to put it all in pig tails, it would be very cute. But the poor man had suffered enough. It was nice to see it back to it's dark colour and curls. She'd missed it. Over the past months it had been every colour under the sun. Even green once, but that had been a mistranslation. It had been curly, straight, spiked. But she liked it best as it was naturally.

"There, all done. Gorgeous" Sherlock offered nothing in reply but that was normal. He didn't speak much anymore. Except to Mycroft. The detective turned to rest his back against the couch, watching her out of the corner of his eye. "Hungry?" He shook his head. "Thirsty?" Another shake. Irene shrugged and sat back down next to him. "I hear that cute silver fox of DI is going to be a daddy. Good for him" Sherlock raised his eyebrows. Clearly this was brand-new news. "You didn't know?" Another shake, curls swishing back and forth.

"Well apparently, he and his fiance..yeah he got engaged a few months back. Anyway, she found out she was pregnant. Heard it from Mycroft, though he didn't know I was listening. She's about a month along. Probably going to be a boy. Listen, do you mind? Just got to pop off to the loo" She patted his arm, not noticing the, now very common, flinch and left the room. Lestrade was going to be a father? Sherlock was not sure what to do with this piece of information. He supposed he was happy for him. Thats what people were supposed to feel, weren't they? If it were anyone else, Sherlock might not give a flying whats-it, but Lestrade, he'd always wanted children. Life was changing, everyone was moving on, enjoying their lives. Everyone except himself.

\----

"Ah I feel much better. Sherlock are you sure you aren't hung-..Sherlock? Sherlock?" The room was empty. Where did he go? It's not like he could have gone far. Not on those legs of his. The cane was missing, so he must have left voluntarily. "Sherlock?" Damn it. Mycroft was going to kill her.

\----

_You're gonna hate me...But Sherlock's missing.. -IA_

_WHAT? Tell me exactly what happened. From the beginning -MH_

_Nothing happened I swear! I went off to use the loo, came back and he was gone. -IA_

_I'm cutting this meeting short. I'll be right over. Search EVERYWHERE. Do you understand? -MH_

_Of course -IA_

_\-----_

Of course this had to happen. He would try and wander off when he was locked up in his mind but his leg injuries prevented him from getting very far. Where could he have gotten too? The bloody idiot better not get himself into more trouble. Mycroft apologised profusely to his superiors and hurried home, who cares about speed limits when you're the British Government? As soon as they arrived he leapt out of the car, his hand still clutching his umbrella. It was already dark, he could be anywhere. He could be lost, he could be hurt. Why couldn't he just stay put? "Where is he? Have you found him?" Irene jumped and shook her head. Molly looked anxious, worried. Mycroft took out his phone and began to bark out orders.

One hour later and the night was pitch black, the air outside incredibly cold and if Mycroft was correct, and he usually was, it was going to rain soon. Still no sign of his little brother. His house was a flurry of activity, so many people rushing about, so why had they been unable to find one person? Where had he gone? Had he been taken? Had he left himself? What if he'd gone to visit John or the others..? He'd put his own plans in jeopardy! Mycroft made a point of getting his men to keep on eye on Lestrade, John and Mrs Hudson.

Two hours later and weather outside was even worse. Mycroft was getting increasingly more worried, Irene was looking incredibly guilty and Molly, Molly was actually being useful and helping them search. Mycroft had forbidden Irene from helping. As far as he was concerned, this was all her fault. The woman in question stood to the side, biting her lip, arms folded. He wished she would stop asking him if she could help. It was very annoying.

Three hours and it had begun to pour heavily outside. Wherever Sherlock was he hoped he was someplace warm and dry. Sighing Mycroft sat down, his mind running through hundreds of places he could of gone, thousands of scenarios that could have taken place. Perhaps his brother would return soon, apologetic, remorseful. Which wasn't like Sherlock. But then Sherlock wasn't like Sherlock anymore. The Sherlock he knew was a smart ass, rude, loud, insulting, teasing, a talker, a prankster, a flurry of movement, energy incarnate. This new Sherlock seemed the opposite. Quiet, polite, soft-spoken, rarely talked, never smiled, never laughted, barely moved, was timid, sad and very lonely. Not his Sherlock. He wanted his Sherlock back.

Mycroft turned his head, staring at the pain pattering against his window. Outside, he wanted to go outside before..could he have? No, he wouldn't, would he? Mycroft stood suddenly, an idea and a memory forming in his mind and grabbed his umbrella, heading outside, ignoring his men's questions and ventured through his own backyard. The weather was harsh, the cold air whipped through his suit, the wind, strong, the rain's pressure increasing the further he walked.

"Sherlock?"

"Sherlock, if you're out here answer me!"

A cane lay abandoned in a pile of mud, footprints, the knee prints dotted the ground, leading to a group of trees. And nestled at the base of these trees, looking wet, cold and pathetic was his little brother.

\------

" _Sherlock?"_

" _Sherlock if you're out here answer me!"_

_Mycroft stood in the rain, his umbrella up, walking and turning in circles desperately trying to find his little brother. He'd been missing for hours, his parents were frantic with worry, the police couldn't find him. Mycroft had decided to check their own yard. His observations had led him out here in the cold and the dark. The storm outside was terrible, his sibling could be lost, hurt, sick. A cough sounded from his right and Mycroft spun around to see his baby brother nestled at the base of a large oak tree. His school clothes covered in mud, in tatters and the seven year old himself, drenched from head to foot._

_Mycroft rushed towards the boy, picking up him up in his arms. Sherlock was sobbing, there was dried blood dripping from his lip down to his chin, his left eye was bruised, a yellowing bruise on his cheek. "Sherlock, who did this to you?" The boy shook his curly head. Mycroft narrowed his eyes. "Sherlock, who hurt you?" The boy sobbed and hiccuped, wrapping his arms around his brothers neck. "Boys at school. They don't like me because I'm smart. I don't wanna be smart Myc" Sighing the elder Holmes hugged his brother tight. "It's not easy being intelligent sometimes Sherlock, it can be very lonely, but you'll find someone who understands you soon. A friend who will always be by your side"_

" _A best friend?"_

" _Yes, exactly. You know mine, Harry."_

" _Can't you be my best friend Myc? You smart like me, you can do observations too. No one thinks its cool, they all think I'm stupid and a show off. Even the teachers hate me." Mycroft placed him on the ground, taking his small hand in his own and began to walk him home. Rage filled him. He was just a child. "Wouldn't you rather someone your own age?" The child shook his head. "No, people my own age are stupid" Mycroft laughed. "I quite agree. I'd love to be your best friend Sherlock, but I want you to never stop searching for one yourself. Understand?" Sherlock nodded and gave his brother a wavering smile._

" _Come on, Mummy and Father are being horribly over dramatic, when you were out here the whole time. Tomorrow, I'll find a way to help you get those boys back. It'll be fun."_

" _I love you Myc"_

" _Love you too Lockie"_

_\-----_

Except he hadn't found friends, Mycroft had made acquaintances, friends with people in wealthy families, at his father's bequest. Never disobey father. As he grew older he did make real, true friends, but the nature of his work prevented him from getting close to anyone. For fear of loosing them to people he counted as enemies. Sherlock had tried to so hard to make friends that in the end, after so many months and years of rejection and bullying from students and teachers alike, he just shut down his heart, put up a facade, pretended he was a sociopath and didn't bother anymore. He never got a chance to practice the social niceties because no one ever gave him a chance. And just when he finally found someone he could call a true best friend, it was torn away from him.

His brother shivered in his pyjamas, his feet bare, his knee bled through the thin fabric. "Sherlock, what are you doing out here?" His brother didn't seem to hear him at first, over the rain, Mycroft moved so his umbrella covered them both. "W-wanted t-to see the s-stars again, M-myc" His teeth chattered and he shivered harder. Mycroft pulled him up, his brother crying out and hopping on one foot. "And then you tripped trying to come back inside, you couldn't get back up and you were stuck out here in the cold and the rain for hours. Why didn't you call for help?" Sherlock looked down at his muddy feet as he leaned on his brother, the two making it slowly towards the house.

"T-tried. N-no one could hear m-me. D-didn't want to b-bother anyone anyway. Besides I thought-t t-that someone w-would f-find me anyway" Not wanting to bother anyone? Definitely not Sherlock. "You're an idiot. Do you have any idea how worried I was?" Sherlock shook his head, sprinkling water into Mycroft's eyes. "Y-you always w-worry." Mycroft rolled his eyes. "You are taking a warm shower, then into clean pyjamas and then bed. I'll have the cook making you some soup and hot chocolate. Can't have you getting pneumonia can we?"

"No, t-that would b-be very b-boring" Mycroft laughed heartily. Now that was Sherlock.

\----

_Dear Normund,_

_I am very pleased to hear from you again! But not about what's happened. I can only deduce from your email that you were imprisoned? Captured? And hurt. Mostly likely tortured. Shit, thats, shit. Fuck. How the hell did you get into that sort of situation? You seem like such a careful guy. Did you get into some sort of trouble or did they kidnap you? Are you ok now? What am I thinking of course you aren't. Look, I have dealt with a few POW's in my time. You are most likely suffering from PTSD, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, in the case that acronym didn't translate well. Thats something I've had myself. It ain't fun._

_You really need to talk to someone, a therapist, your family. But someone you are close too. It really makes me sad to think that someone I call a friend could have been brutally treated. Just talk to someone, ok? You can take it slowly, but you shouldn't keep what happened to you bottled up inside. Especially if you think its had a change on your personality._

_Thats all I can say right now. I wish I could help more. Don't hesitate to hit me up if you really feel like talking._

_Your concerned mate,_

_John._


	56. 56

_The flat was empty, not a living soul amongst it's walls. Familiar furniture and mess covered every inch but it was dark, cold, lifeless, soul-less. Martha wrapped her arms around herself and rubbed them, trying to bring back the warmth. The whole placed screamed her son's name. Sherlock. Sherlock. She picked up a dark coat lying over John's chair, brining it to her face and sobbing into it. Oh my darling boy._

_A thud emitted from the room behind. Martha grabbed the frying pan from its place on the stove and crept towards her Sherlock's room. A body lay prone on the floor, blood pooling around it. Dark curly hair, blue scarf, purple shirt. It could be only one person. No, not here. How could he be here? Oh Sherlock! He was more paler than ever, and as she knelt beside him she noticed a second body, a gun in his hand, blood dripping from the back of his head. John had shot himself._

_She pulled them both close and held them against her chest and cried. Her boys, oh her beautiful boys. They'd left her all alone._

Mrs Hudson bolted upright, panting and brushed the sweat from her brow. She grabbed her pink handkerchief from it's place beneath her pillow and sobbed into it. Just a dream. Except one of her boys really had left her. Her beautiful son that had put away her abusive husband, that had brought back happiness in her life. Why did he have to be taken? It wasn't fair, he was so young, so full of energy.

Oh my darling detective boy.

\------

_She ran down the twisting alleyways. Footsteps pounded behind her. She removed her gun from it's holster and made sure the safety was off. She could hear yelling, shouting from behind her but she dare not stop, for fear they would catch up. She turned left and found herself at a dead end. Shadows crept around the corner, she was trapped. They morphed from three people to one person._

_Sherlock._

_Dressed as always in his dark coat and blue scarf he limped towards her, his face devoid of emotion. Blood streamed down his face from the large wound on the side of his head. His skin was grey, his lips were blue, his eyes were hollow, dead. Seeing nothing. As he grew closer he lifted up one blood soaked hand towards Sally. She hastily lifted her weapon, her back resting against the brick wall. No, no stay away, please no. She couldn't bring herself to shoot him._

" _You killed me"_

" _No, no, it was an accident. I didn't mean for it to happen. Im sorry, I'm so sorry"_

" _You played his game, you killed me Sally Donavon."_

" _I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry. Please believe me" Tears fell across her cheeks, she slid down the wall until she sat on the cold pavement, her gun held in front of her. Please I'm sorry, forgive me. I'm so sorry Sherlock. Oh god._

" _You hated me. You wanted me dead Sally"_

" _No, no I didn't, I never did. Please, oh god, don't hurt me."_

" _Freak."_

_Oh my god Sherlock. Forgive me. Please. I can't forgive myself. I never should have doubted you._

_I never should have played his game. His hand reached closer to her head, closing around her hair. She screamed._

Sally woke up crying. Oh god. She had these so often after he first jumped. Now they still happened but very rarely. She still blamed herself. Even though he had killed himself to save others. The guilt would never leave her. She was sorry. She really was. But nothing could bring him back.

\-----

_Lestrade flicked through the channels, reality show, Coronation Street, Merlin, commercial, commercial, commercial, dull, boring. He switched it off, picking up a fresh can of beer from the six pack. A shadow appeared across the screen, someone was behind him. He leapt from his seat, gun drawn._

" _Who's there? Show yourself!" He wished he hadn't asked._

_The detective slipped out from the shadows, drenched in blood. Lestrade shook his head. No, not again. Not now. Oh shit son. Why? Stop haunting me! "Look, just go away, please mate. Please, just don't do this. Just go. Oh fuck" The corpse stood there watching him with curiosity. "Why are you here?"_

" _You doubted me, arrested me. It's your fault Moriarty won. Your fault I jumped. I jumped for you and you still doubted me. Did I mean that little to you?" No, oh god Sherlock, you meant a lot to me. Please, I blame myself, the last words I said, the last time I saw your alive, I arrested you. The next minute you were dead. Please I blame myself ok? Just stop haunting me._

" _No, no I always believed"_

" _Liar. You're happy I'm dead, moved on, got yourself a girlfriend, got her pregnant. Going to have a son. How marvellous. Don't kill this one Lestrade."_

_And then he was gone and Lestrade fell to his knees, his head in his hands, tears slipping through his fingers._

Shit, shit, shit! Greg threw the glass of half drunk scotch at the wall, grateful his fiance was visiting her sister to give her to good news in person. Damn it. After all this time, when would the nightmares stop? If he felt this bad, how did John feel? Or Mycroft? Dream Sherlock was right, it was his fault. Sherlock had told him it was a game and he didn't listen, he doubted his kid, his detective and the boy ended up paying the ultimate price. He had played for the lives of his friends and won but the payment was his own upon the pavement.

I'm sorry son. I failed you.

\----- 

_The body he held in his arms was alive, but dead. It's heart beated, it's lungs breathed, it functioned, but it's mind did not. It's soul had vacated it's body. All that was left was an empty shell that just happened to resemble Sherlock Holmes. Mycroft picked it up in his arms, it was so thin, so light and carried it out of it's cell, it's arms falling limply to the side, it's head lolling against his chest, eyes open, seeing nothing. Never again._

_He took care of the shell. Kept it warm, kept it well fed, treated it's wounds, told it stories. He couldn't bring himself to think of it as his brother. That would hurt too much. Make things too real. He was a man who held a tight grip, an iron fist around his emotions. Perhaps one day the mind would return, the soul would again take up residence. Until then he would look after it's home._

_Months flew by and the mind and soul didn't return. The body refused to move from it's place on the window seat unless nature called or Mycroft steered it away to bed or to eat. It never acknowledged the man who claimed brotherhood over it's owner. It never spoke, it never looked at him. It just remained empty. Eventually it no longer ate of it's own violation. It became weak, bedridden, force fed through a tube. It began to waste away despite all it's doctor's efforts. But still Mycroft didn't cry._

_He continued to look after it. He still read it stories, still talked to it day and night. Told him, it, about it's friends. Still clinging to that little bit of hope that it's owner would return. A fools hope. Another month went by and he, it, was barely clinging to life. The doctor's told him the body didnt have much longer to live. Mycroft held himself into check until that fateful night. He sat by the bod-.. his brother's side, clutching his limp hand tightly in his own. Praying. Just one miracle, just one please. Take me, leave him. Bring him back. Please. Give him back to me._

_And then he was gone. His brother left him. Now Mycroft cried. He cried an avalanche of tears. Everything he held back poured out. He'd failed his only family. He'd failed his baby brother. The child he raised. The boy who shared his gifts. Mycroft had caused him to fake his death, run after a masterminds web only to be caught in it. Mycroft had failed to rescue his blood and his blood payed dearly. Not with his body but with his beautiful mind. Nothing could ever bring him back._

_And one day he had to make a phone call, several phone calls. To tell those who his sibling had considered family that he was once alive and now was dead and it was all his brother's fault._

_Forgive me Lockie._

Mycroft awoke shivering on the couch, he sat suddenly, wrapping the blankets around him. Sweat poured down his cheeks. A dream, just a dream. But it could have soon easily been reality. But it wasn't, it had been a nightmare. Stop thinking about it, it's not logical to dwell upon it Mycroft Holmes. But still.. he had to check. He stood up and made his way around the couch to the body asleep in bed. He breathed, one fist clenched against his lips. Sherlock was ok, he was alive. Deep breaths Mycroft. Deep breaths.

This was not going to happen again. Sherlock will be safe and alive as long as Mycroft kept close watch. He'd failed him twice now, it was not going to happen again.

\-----

_John kissed his beautiful wife on the lips and wished her goodnight, he had to finish up his writing before her followed her. Just another wonderful night at the Watson household. Beautiful wife, two amazing children. Life couldn't be any better could it? Footsteps crept towards him. John laughed and turned, a question for his spouse upon his lips. But it fell. It wasn't Mary, it was Sherlock._

_Looking as he always did, a fresh, bleeding corpse. John sighed. "Do we have to keep doing this?" The corpse rested his hands on his shoulder, John shivered, it was like ice. "You forgot me. You hate me John Watson"_

" _What? I could never hate you."_

" _You got married, you didn't wait"_

" _You died. What was I supposed to wait for? Your return? You dived off a building, I fucking buried you. Your body is in a coffin Sherlock." The corpse sprayed blood as it shook it's head. Skin was beginning to peel off it's knuckles it's cheekbones. John felt fresh emotion surge up into his throat. "You're dead ok?"_

" _I didn't die"_

" _Yes you fucking did!"_

" _I faked my death! I did it for you! But then I got killed by Moriarty's men. And you didn't care, you just moved on! I tried to contact you but you were getting married! I waited for you! But you were late!" John shook his head, backing away. No, no he was dead. This wasn't true, he can't have been waiting. No. No._

" _No"_

" _Yes. I waited. You didn't come. You didn't care and now I'm dead. I was coming back but you were already all to happy to move on. Thanks John, nice to know I was right all along. I don't have friends. Not even one"_

_He disappeared and John fell to the floor gasping. He grabbed his phone calling Mycroft. Oh god. It was true. Oh Sherlock, please forgive me I didn't know. I didn't fucking know! Please come back._

_I'm sorry Sherlock._

John awoke suddenly, gasping for air, tears running down his face. Oh god not another one. He placed his hand over his eyes taking deep breaths. This wasn't the first time he'd dreamed of Sherlock claiming he never died. But in some ways it hurt more than the others. The idea that his friend had faked his death to save him, only to be captured and call for John's help. And John not listening and Sherlock dying all alone without a single friend. It just fucking hurt. He wasn't happy his friend wasn't dead but he was glad he never died alone. John had been there to hold his hand, talk to him in his last moments.

He rested his head back down and fell into a dreamless sleep.

\---

_He wouldn't look at him. He saw right through him as if he wasn't there, as if he was a ghost. But others saw him. Mycroft saw him, Anthea saw him, so did Irene and Moriarty. Why didn't John? Why didn't Lestrade or Mrs Hudson. Why did they all ignore him? He was alive, he wasn't dead. Please look at me. I'm right here! Please! John, John I'm not dead. John. John! Don't cry, please don't cry, look at me. Look at my face! He waved a hand in front of his friends eyes. John please! I faked my death! Im alive! Im back home! I missed you so much! Why won't you answer me? Why won't you look at me John?_

_Please don't go to her. You don't need her. You only need me. Im right here. Im not a ghost, I'm not a hallucination. You don't need HER. You don't need a girlfriend when you have me. Look I'm sorry? Ok? I'm sorry I left, I'm sorry I lied to you. Please stop ignoring me. John..John! Please!_

_The first tear fell down his high cheekbones._

_Why don't you visit the grave anymore? I know I'm not dead, but please don't forget me. I'm here John. By your side. Always by your side. I don't want you to forget me. Please remember. Please look at me. Please. I don't beg normally, but I'm begging you now. Please forgive me and stop ignoring me John..._

_I miss you._

_The second tear falls._

_Getting married? How ridiculous! Lestrade is best man. What about me? Yes I hate the idea of you getting married, it's stupid and selfish. But why didn't you invite me? Why do you still hate me? PLEASE JOHN! Just look at me! Please forgive me! Im sorry, I'm so sorry! Im not dead, let's have dinner. Let's be friends again. Fuck, John, please I need you._

_More tears follow._

_Sherlock followed John everywhere, every day, every night, begging forgiveness, begging him to listen. Begging him to not forget. Until one day John stopped in the middle of the street and punched him in the face._

" _Stop following me! It's stupid. Go away"_

_John. John you can see me!_

" _Of course I can see you. Now sod off"_

_But, but I'm alive, I'm home..can't we still be friends?_

" _Why would I want to be friends with you? Why would anyone? You're a freak Sherlock Holmes, I don't want or need you"_

_You don't mean that John, you're just hurt and angry. You don't mean it._

_John laughed. "So innocent aren't you? I forgot you. I don't miss you. I've moved on. We all have. Better that way. So just does us all a favour and just go away and play with your criminals. Go bother someone else to be your friend. Although, no one else will want to. No one likes you Sherlock. Besides, your damaged goods now. A broken man, who would want to befriend you now anyway? Ta-ta, gotta go see the wife."_

_Sherlock's shoulders slumped, tears flowed down his cheeks. His heart felt tight. John couldn't mean it, could he? John was his friend. His best friend. Why would he say these horrible things? Other people he expected this from but not his John. Not his best friend. Sherlock let his wall fall around John because he trusted him and now he'd punched him through the chest and torn out his heart. John, but you're my friend...you're my friend. Sherlock collapsed tp the ground and John laughed._

" _Stupid Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock the Freak, the Fake, the Fraud. Go mess and break someone else's life. I'm done with you. You. Repel. Me"_

_Sherlock cried._

_His best friend hated him, his soul was broken, he had nothing to live for anymore._

"Sherlock! Sherlock! Wake up, please wake up!" Mycroft shook his brother, who was sobbing and tossing hard in his slumber. "Wake up Lockie!" His brother's eyes snapped open and searched for Mycrofts. "John...John" The detective's shoulders shook, tears free falling once more. Mycroft hugged his sibling. Sherlock clenched the fabric of his brother's pyjamas tightly. "John"

"It's ok, it was just a nightmare"

"No, he hates me. He hates me"

"No he doesn't. He absolutely doesn't"

"If he does, what point is there to living? I don't want to die, but I won't feel alive anymore"

"Now thats just foolishness. Look at me Sherlock Holmes. John Watson does not hate you. He has not forgotten you. He missed you terribly. I don't ever want to hear you say such nonsense again. Do you understand?" Sherlock nodded, wiping his tears with his sleeve. "You are not well, you have the beginning's of a very bad cold and it's fuelled your nightmares. Go back to sleep, you'll feel better in the morning." Sherlock nodded. The more he awoke, the more he realised the idiocy of his nightmare and comments. He wanted to live, he wasn't suicidal. But he didn't feel alive. Not right now. Not whilst broken. Maybe Dream John was right. Maybe there were better off without him though. He wasn't the same anymore. He wasn't Sherlock. He wanted to be.

He shook his head clear of these thoughts and lay his head back down and tried to drift off to sleep. Mycroft was right, things will seem better in the morning.


	57. 57

Mycroft draped another blanket around his brother's shivering form. He was seated, knees up against his chest, on one of the couches, a mug of steaming hot chocolate, rested on one knee. He appeared to be using his toes to turn the pages of the newspaper that was lying on the coffee table, amongst cough drop wrappers and piles of tissues. Mycroft smiled ever so slightly as he watched a pale foot shoot out from the warmth of the blanket and grasp the edge of the paper between two toes. He bristled however when the brand burnt into his brother's right foot showed it's evil visage. They'd have to do something about that brand. Surgery perhaps.

"Feel better this morning?"

He received only a cough and several sneezes in reply. Mycroft nodded as if he understood the cryptic message and sipped his own warm mug of green tea. "Is it *sneeze* true? Is Lestrade to be a *sneeze, sneeze* father?" How on earth had he come upon that piece of information?...Oh of course. Irene. Mycroft tipped his head gently. "Yes, a boy most likely. He confided in me the name. Wanted my blessing I suppose."

"Why?"

"Because the child is to have your name as it's middle name"

Sherlock looked shocked. Mycroft was puzzled, he thought his brother would be pleased. Why, why would Lestrade name his child after me? That makes no sense, thought Sherlock. It was most likely, because the Inspector felt obligated to after learning the detective had "died" to save him. Yes, that made sense. Still, Sherlock was hardly the best person to name your child after.

"I see"

Cough, cough, sneeze. Mycroft took pity on him, he was about to cough up a lung, and handed him another cough drop and a fresh box of tissues. "Try not to make a mess. I have to pop out for a bit, Sherlock." His brother grabbed a fistful of tissues and loudly blew his nose, it sounded like a badly played trumpet. "Where?" Mycroft stood, placing the empty mug on top of a few used tissues, his nose twitching in disgust. "To see John actually" If anything could get Sherlock's attention it was the mention of John's name.

"Why?"

"Well, the twins are leaving, so I have to have his stuff returned, he's finished Memoirs and I have been fast pacing all the books so far, thats why they have all been released so quickly. But you already knew that. Anyway, I thought I better play the grieving brother and just happen to be at the cemetery when he is. Audio caught at a nearby restaurant suggests he will go today. Is there anything you'd like me to say or ask?"

Tell him I'm alive, tell him everything will be ok. Tell him I miss him. Tell him I'm not ok. I'm Sigerson, I'm broken, I need him.

"No." But Mycroft could see those thoughts with his eagle eyes.

"Last time we spoke about your childhood. He seemed happy to learn about it. Would you mind if I share with him more stories?" It helps me in a way Sherlock. To remember how you once were. You aren't dead but you are not yourself. And you know it will help John. Make him smile.

"You.. spoke about me?"

"Of course, who else would we talk about? Is it ok? I was thinking of lending him the photo album. To play the part. Its what I would have done had you...well anyway. Yes or no?"

"Yes."

\------

John was sad to see the twins leave, they themselves were crying. But the promise of a reunion come Christmas time brought a smile to John's face. Christmas was not far away. A month or so. Nearly a year. A year without Sherlock. God, how will he face Christmas? He'd only been able to spend one with his flatmate but these sorts of holidays, you always missed people you didn't have, didn't you? Mary kissed his ear, bringing him out of his self pitying and walking with him towards Sherlock's grave.

In front of which was a familiar figure. Tall, dark hair, long, tailored coat. Umbrella in his left hand, a pirate's hat in the other, which he lay in front of the grave amongst the flowers. He had something under his left arm. Files perhaps. His shoulder's slumped, the man took a deep breath and turned around.

"John. Miss Mary"

"Mycroft"

Mycroft gave his trademark smile, which could mean a number of things if you knew him. John saw this smile as a 'grin and bear it' bereaving smile. He'd seen it a few times now. He preferred much more, even though it used to annoy him, his 'I'm smart and you're not' smile. At least that had meant Sherlock was alive. This one was a testament to Sherlock's death. Mycroft liked to pretend he had no emotions. But it was clearly not true. The three stood there awkwardly for awhile, until John sidestepped Mycroft and walked up to the grave and kneeled down. Ignoring the 'wrong' Holmes' presence he started to talk.

"I finally wrote it Sherlock. Your death. Wasn't easy, took me forever. But it's done. Now the whole world can read the true story and see what a hero you really were in the end. I knew last time I was here I said I was working on Hounds but, I just felt now was the right time to write about your 'fall'. I hope I did it justice mate"

"Sorry I haven't been here to visit you too often lately. Been looking after two rowdy five year olds. The boy, James, reminded me a lot of you. Precocious, dark curly hair. Curious, rude. Always getting into trouble. I imagine you were much the same as a child. Well.. better pop off, your brother is being annoying and eavesdropping again. See you again near Christmas mate." He patted the top of the headstone before turning around and limping back to Mary. Neither Mycroft or Mary had spoken during John's speech.

"You still here for a particular reason?" Mycroft cleared his throat.

"Your stuff will be returned shortly..and I look forward to your new book." John nodded, but he expected Mycroft was here for other reasons. "What's in the satchel?" Mycroft removed said satchel from beneath his arm. "Why don't we sit down?"

The three moved to a vacant bench, John and Mary both seating themselves on Mycroft's right side. The elder Holmes brother removed a blue leather album and placed it on his knees. It looked ancient and well loved. "I thought perhaps you might like to look at these." He handed the album to John.

"What's in it?"

"Open it and find out."

Inside were dozens and dozens of photos of Sherlock, Mycroft and both of them together. John swallowed as he turned each page. "Why?" Mycroft shrugged. "Why not?" John smiled at the happy little boy who was waving back from the pages of his childhood. "Last time I saw you, you told me a bit of his childhood."

"Do you want to hear more?" Mary smiled and nodded eagerly. John grinned. "You wouldn't mind telling us?" Mycroft bowed his head. "I have no one else left to share them with." The doctor's smile briefly fell. "If it helps you, we'd love to hear some." Mycroft tilted his head, looking pleased and grateful.

"Very well. Why don't I start from the start?"

\---

_I remember clearly the day I first met my little brother. I was seven years of age. This memory is particularly clear in my mind because I remember thinking, yes I'm happy to have a brother but why did he have to wake me up? Because they woke me up early in the morning, around two or three am, to tell me I had a phone call. It was father, eagerly telling me that it was a boy. I had a brother._

_My parents had been trying for a second child for years. Bad luck, two miscarriages and their busy schedules always seemed to get in the way, until one morning, mummy exclaimed to father that she was pregnant. Everyone held their breaths as the months ticked by, but the doctor's assured us that the baby was perfectly healthy._

_Mummy and father weren't sure if it was to be a boy or a girl. Mummy hoped for a girl, she already had a boy. She dreamed of a girl with long raven locks like her own. A girl she could put in pretty dresses and be the envy of all the fancy ladies, business associates and socialites who were always dining at our house. I however devoted my time to much research and concluded that I was going to have a brother. Which suited me just fine. Girls giggled far too much and pinched my cheeks. It was very annoying._

_Then one day mummy was rushed to hospital and I was left all alone in our big manor house. Very early the next morning one of the servants woke me up to inform me of a phone call. A few hours later they dressed me in my best suit and handed me a bouquet of flowers._

_Why? I thought, a baby won't care about flowers. But they were for mummy. She looked exhausted. I remember telling her to take care of herself and rest. Father was holding a blue bundle in his arms. A little pudgy pink thing escaped from the confines of the bundle. It's fist was tightly clenched and reaching for father's face. Father beamed down at it._

_Boy or girl I asked mummy. Boy she replied tiredly, how disappointing for her but she seemed pleased nonetheless. They asked me if I wished to meet him. Of course I did, introductions were in order. Father bade me to sit and I obeyed and he placed the bundle in my arms. It was heavier than I'd imagined. Nestled in the blue fabric was a small wiggling person. So very small. His little hands were fisted and waving themselves trying to touch my face. He was very pink and had a mop of dark curly hair and the bluest eyes I had ever seen. He was beautiful. Of course he was, he was a Holmes after all._

_I felt something wet on my cheek and wondered if my new sibling had spat at me. But it was a tear, and the another and another. I was crying! And mummy and the other relatives in the room, mostly the female ones, began to cry because I was crying. Happy tears mummy said. Happy, I was happy because I had a little brother. The baby gurgled and stared up at me as if trying to deduce who I was. I asked mummy his name._

_Sherlock._

_Oh my parent's and their fondness for unusual names. But then they both had unusual monikers themselves. Sherrinford and Athena. Father's name was a traditional Holmes name. Mummy's family were all a little... eccentric. Mummy usually went by her middle name though, Violet. My parents had settled on a name from each side of the family. Sherlock came from mummy's side, and my name came from father's._

_I gave my brother a formal greeting and shook his little hand. The fat fingers closed around one of mine and held fast. I think he was saying hello back._

_Hello Sherlock._

_\----_

John and Mary seemed to be near tears as Mycroft concluded his first tale. Mary was running a finger along a photo of a smiling baby with black curls. He was sitting in the lap of a dark red-headed child, who was also smiling broadly at the photographer. John gave a nervous laugh.

"Oh Mycroft, he sounded adorable" Cooed Mary. Mycroft pursed his lips and gave her a brief smile. "Of course he was, thats why everyone doted on him as a baby." John laughed. Easily imagining a very spoilt little Sherlock.

"Would you like me to continue?"

"Yes please" Replied the other two in unison.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Mycroft's memory of Sherlock's birth is based on my own memory of my little brother's birth. I was a lot younger than Mycroft, 4 and 1/2. But I have a slightly photographic memory and I remember the day he was born because I was awoken in the middle of the night by the phone that was behind my head. I was very happy to have a brother but annoyed that he choose to be born in the middle of the night thus waking me up.
> 
> And when I went to meet him and held him in my arms I cried happy tears and made everyone else in the room cry too. IDK why I was even crying. Lol. But year. Thats what inspired this memory.


	58. 58

"Very well"

* * *

_He spent his first two years of life in the family nursery. In the same crib I was placed in. He was a very happy little baby. But not for everyone. As soon as mummy recovered from giving birth she went back to work. So Sherlock was looked after by servants and a wet nurse. However whenever I came home from school and went to see him his little face would light up. He would make the sweetest gurgling sounds._

_I would pick him up and hold him. I'd tickle his feet, belly or the back of his neck and he would roar with laughter. He would roll around on the floor and I would lie next to him and he would roll over so he hit me and giggle. Like it was the most amusing thing in the world._

_When he discovered crawling, all hell broke loose. Suddenly he was mobile and he was incredibly fast. But he would always rush to me if I spoke his name. His little hands and knees would pound the floor and he would throw himself into my arms, giggling his little head off and wrap his chubby arms around my chest._

_The older he got, the cheekier he became. But only around me. Father was a solemn fellow and smelt of whisky and smokes, he commanded respect by his mere presence. Sherlock was more sweet around mummy, I think he reserved his playful side chiefly for the person he saw most. Me. Sometimes he would pull my hair or my nose and laugh. He'd throw his bear at my head and collapse into a pile of giggles._

* * *

_He was a very curious toddler. Always getting into trouble. He always had a large group of servants following him all over the manor. Our parents were very busy people you see. My little sibling exhausted the whole household. So they usually entrusted him into my care. At fifteen months he was already walking, or rather running, everywhere. His hair was a lot longer now and very very curly. He was forever getting into things. One time I found him in the kitchen with a saucepan on his head, grinning at me. He seemed to adore me._

_Im sure he adored mummy and father but when they couldn't get him to stop crying they would give him to me and he would stop immediately. I was everything to him. Sherlock was even more mischievous as a toddler. He still threw his toys at me and giggled when I growled. He liked to poke my cheeks and play with my tie. When he was tired he would climb into my lap and snuggle against my chest to sleep._

_I practically raised him. I read him bed time stories, made sure he was dressed warmly if it was cold, made sure he ate everything, brushed his teeth. He wouldn't obey the nannies, or the servants. Only me. I was his whole world and he was mine._

_But.. he never spoke. Not until he was about three years old. Nothing seemed to be wrong with him. In fact he seemed very intelligent for his age. Very happy and precocious. But mummy and father were worried that something was wrong. I tried to convince them that some people were late talkers. Like Einstein. They didn't really care. I was just a boy, what did I know. Actually a lot, thank you very much._

_I remember the day he did speak though. Mummy and father were having one of their boring business dinners. I say boring because although the topics were interesting they were never directed at myself. But then I was not invited. No, as always I was having to keep on eye on my cheeky little sibling. We were both peeking around the corner when we heard it._

_One of the nasty, new money, ladies was bragging about her new son. How smart he was, how adorable he was. I'd met the boy. He was just charming and of very average intelligence. The lady began to pat mummy's hand and say how sad it was she had a 'special' child. Mummy seemed upset, father started to get angry, because the stupid lady wouldn't shut up. I remember bursting into the room and yelling at her._

_Sherlock is very smart I told her. Smarter than her son. The child in question, crept up behind me, in his little bee patterned pyjamas. Hugging his favourite soft toy, a large blond teddy bear that was almost as big as he was. Father told me to be quiet and leave things to him. But I was angry. The woman had on that stupid condescending smile that adults give to children. Sherlock was confused. Mummy defended her son and started to cry. Stress I think, she loved Sherlock but she worried about him._

_Little Lockie himself picked up on the rooms atmosphere and his lower lip began to quiver, tears welled up in his eyes and he looked to me for an explanation. I told him exactly what had happened. Mummy and father were worried because he hadn't spoken and that this stupid woman had called him 'special' and not in a complimentary way._

_Sherlock looked from mummy, to father, to me and began to sob. I hugged him tightly and father started to get even angrier. Sherlock hiccuped and looked into my eyes. Mycwoft, he says, I just wike to wisten. He spoke, he actually spoke! I couldn't believe it. And his first word was my name! Albeit pronounced incorrectly, but he was only three. You wearn stuff when you wisten, he explains. His vocabulary large for his age, but then mine was too. Had some problems pronouncing those L's and R's but again, only three. I hugged him again and mummy rushed over to do the same. Sherlock stuck out his tongue at the rude lady._

_That night he was treated to huge amounts of ice cream and sweets and received two brand new soft toys in the morning. I was so proud._

* * *

"Sounds like he was quite the handful" John mused as he smiled at a photo of little toddling Sherlock, holding his favourite bear, later named Aristotle. "You have no idea. But I suppose I can give you some." Mycroft smiled as he began to remember again.

* * *

_Sherlock received a chemistry set for his fifth christmas. Not the usual gift one gives a child of that age. But our family was never 'usual'. Of course, yet again our parents were off on a trip. So it was I who was awoken at six am by someone bouncing on my bed, exclaiming at the top of his lungs that it was Christmas. Like I cared. Still, might as well get up. Sherlock had stopped believing in Father Christmas the year before. Father had told him that he wasn't real and to stop blubbering that he couldn't go see him at the shops like everyone else._

_I was less than impressed, father didn't have to deal with the sulking._

_It had come to my notice early on that he, like myself, was a highly observant child. I wondered just how observant and began to ask him questions. Why is that woman crying? Why does the maid of soot on her apron when no fires have been lit? Why does that manservant have lipstick on his collar? It became a game and he excelled at it. We called it Deduction._

_I was secretly pleased to have found someone who had the same observational abilities as myself. Father never liked it. He said we were too nosey. Secretly he thought we were plain weird, he was certain it did not come from his side of the family._

_Lockie loved to explore, he considered himself an adventurer. Always finding somewhere new to explore. Drove the household mad when they couldn't find him and he would turn up in a cupboard or the attic, one time in the fireplace. He loved to perform experiments as well. A passion I shared. I had my own, proper chemistry set hidden in the basement, it was a real victorian one too. Except I didn't always approve of Sherlock's experiments._

_Mainly because one involved the melting of my umbrella. It was on a particularly stormy day and I was not impressed one bit. But I was late for school. I came home soaking wet, drenched completely through and ended up bedridden for a weak with a terrible cold. Sherlock felt incredibly guilty and spent his entire allowance on a brand new umbrella, an adults one. I was touched and I still have it. This one in fact._

* * *

"Didn't you tell me he wanted to be a pirate when he was little?" Mycroft chuckled. "Oh yes, he did. Now that got him into a lot of trouble"

* * *

_He was seven at the time, if I remember correctly. He had become fascinated with pirates, his favourite book at the time was Treasure Island, previously it had been the Hobbit and Peter Pan. He was forever dressing up as a pirate and attempting to duel with the servants or claiming sweets from the kitchen as his treasure._

_He was a lot quieter now, after a year or so at school. He was bullied a lot already, partly because of his observational skills and the fact that he was a lot smarter than the other children as was due to skip a grade or two. Like me he had spent his childhood so far away from other children. It wasn't his fault, rather our parents. But come holidays he went back to being his loud, exuberant self._

_Which is why, one afternoon, I saw him standing on top of one of the couches, broom sticking out between the cushions with one of his sheets tied to it like a sail. He was in one of his black and white stripped long sleeved tops, his jeans ripped at the bottom. He'd cut them himself. He was wearing an eye patch and pirate hat, beneath of which was.._

_"Is that mummy's best scarlet, silk scarf?"_

_"Avast! Ye land-lubber!" The rascal pointed his wooden sword at my chest. I raised my hands in mock surrender. "Sherlock if mummy finds out you've taken that scarf" The pirate captain didn't seem to listen. "Avast! Or ye'll walk tha' plank!" I sighed in annoyance. "Listen, 'Captain', get off the couch before you get into trouble. Matron could come around the corner at any second!"_

_Matron ruled the household with an iron fist. She was a tall, house of a woman. She tolerated no nonsense and she and my brother were always knocking heads. "Threatenin' me with tha dreaded Kraken, are ye, scurvy dog? If it's a duel ye wan't, it's a duel ye shall get!" He raised one hand in the air, the sword pointed outright at my chest again._

_"Sherlock" I sighed. His face fell. "Just play along, Myky..please.." He whispered. "But I don't even have a sword" I whispered in reply. He removed one from around Aristotle's "belt". He had been acting as first mate. He threw the object at me and I caught it with one hand. "En Garde!" I cried and leapt onto the couch. Sherlock's face lit up and then he growled and thrust his weapon forward._

_"I shall have you in chains, pirate scum!"_

_"Never!"_

_We pounded around the living room, leaping from couch to couch. I felt terribly silly but exhilarated, it relaxed me for some reason. Sherlock was having the time of his life, at least he was before he topped backwards off the back of the couch. "Sherlock!" I cried, forgetting my sailor persona. I climbed off the couch and ran to his rescue. His arm was folded awkwardly beneath him. Clearly broken._

_"Mycroft Holmes!"_

_Matron had indeed heard our fighting and come to investigate. Immediately blaming me. Which I suppose was correct, It was sort of my fault to encourage him. She swatted me over the head and barked out orders to a maid seated in the hallway. "I expected better from you Master Mycroft. You're supposed to be the good one, well behaved. Now look at what you've done!" I bit my lip and tried to erase the glare from my eyes. I knew she thought of Sherlock as a good for nothing whelp. Just because he was boisterous and didn't like authority figures. But come on, he was only seven. He needed this outlet. I needed it._

_Sherlock ended up having to visit hospital and have his arm x rayed. Which he found fascinating and wasted no time in asking the technician as many questions as possible. Like myself he had a thirst for knowledge. The limb was broken and he was sent him in a cast and sling. Father was furious. He yelled at me, I should have known better, he said. I thought you were better than this, he said. Which translated as because I did what he wanted I was the good son, because Sherlock was a carefree soul, and did what he could to have fun, he was the bad son. Maybe if you were around more, he'd actually listen to you. I cried, ignoring the fact that long ago I learned that father was old fashioned. Children were to be seen and not heard. He slapped me._

_I know he regretted it as soon as he did it, I also know it wasn't the last time he slapped one of his children. He was a very busy man and he did love us, he just wasn't sure how to look after two children he didn't even have time to raise himself, who were both a little odd and too smart for their own good. I remember raising my hand to my cheek and slinking away. But I wasn't sorry for myself. I had been standing up for my little brother. I would always stand up for him, always protect him. Even if no one else did. Lockie asked me what had happened. I didn't tell him, but he knew. Of course he did, he was like me._

_"I'm sorry Myc"_

_"Not your fault, Lock."_

_"Maybe I shouldn't have made you play...you just, need to relax from studying all the time. It's all you do"_

_"I don't study all the time"_

_"Do so"_

_"Do not"_

_"So"_

_"Not"_

_We stared at each other for a few minutes before bursting out into a fit of laughter. "Don't stop playing Sherlock, if it makes you happy." Sherlock beamed back at me. And of course , a few weeks later._

_"Hoist tha sails! Raise tha Jolly Roger!"_

_"I am not being your first mate. I am the eldest. I should be Captain"_

_"You'd be the most boring Captain that ever sailed on the Seven Seas"_

_"Maybe , but I'd be the most efficient one"_


	59. 59

John chucked heartily as he imagined little Sherlock running around the room dressed as a pirate. "Definitely a handful. I'm guessing you never did anything like that yourself" Mycroft paled, an image of a small red-headed boy dressed as Robin Hood complete with arrow and bow, springing to his mind. "No. Never"

Mary's lips curled, a cute little dimple peeking out from one cheek. "So you two were obviously close, so then..what happened? The way John makes it sound, you two were enemies" Mycroft nodded. "We were friends, until I left home."

* * *

_Sherlock didn't really have any friends growing up. Not for lack of trying. But because of his intellect, the fact he ended up skipping a few grades early on, he found it extremely difficult to make any. It didn't help that they thought him stuck up and arrogant due to his intelligence and lack of on their part. Or they fact that teachers ignored the bullying he later faced because they thought he was a freak as well. On many occasions he would come home with a split lip or a black eye._

_It did not help that our home life was less than favourable. Father and mummy were never at home and when they were father had rowing matches with my younger sibling. They had never gotten on after the football incident. Father was strict and old fashioned. He expected Sherlock to obey his every rule and whim but Sherlock was the rebel, the defier. He hated the rules, I did myself I must admit, but I was the dutiful son. Sherlock did not wish to follow in his father's footsteps. On more than one occasion I saw him slap my brother. I did nothing, I was too afraid of my father, he still had power over me. I was young and foolish. And so I did the only thing I could do to escape my father, I left for college._

_I had watched a bubbly little boy turn into a quiet one. Who ultimately ended up a moody, sullen teenager. You might say thats typical of a teenager and in some ways it is, but my brother,as you well know, was anything but typical. I still checked up on my younger sibling from time to time. Like most teens he listened to loud music. Instead of rock however he would play classical music as loud as possible. He rejected the suits father used to insist we wear, in favour of jeans and tshirts. He escaped from his room whenever possible until when he was sixteen father had had enough and sent him to boarding school._

_Sherlock by now had fabricated an outward persona for himself. The uncaring sociopath. He believed this would save him from the rejection he would feel from attempting to make friends and he also hoped the bullies would leave him alone. He locked up his heart and hid it behind a wall. It didn't stop the bullying, but it was not as worse as before because Sherlock had become adapt had hiding his emotions. A family trait of course. As a result, lack of friendship meant he never properly developed the social niceties that most of us did. Since the bullying continued to happen, Sherlock resolved to find a way he could fight back, words seem to only make things worse, so he studied boxing and a few different martial art styles. But in reality, I think this got him into more trouble._

_He had a few acquaintances, and it was these acquaintances that pulled him into the world of drugs. Im not sure when exactly he started but several occasions when he was sixteen, I would come and visit and find him stoned. I would lecture him and he would promise over and over again that he would stop. Until finally, during his final year of school I'd had enough of the promises. He wasn't going to stop. He was bored, he needed things to either stop or occupy his mind. I understood, I suffered from the same affliction but I had turned my mind to intellectual pursuits and the government. Sherlock had turned to drugs. I sent him to rehab when he was seventeen. And again when he was nineteen. He overdosed twice. Even after all this he still continued to use._

_"Sherlock you are ruining your mind!"_

_"Piss off Mycroft"_

_"..You aren't even listening to me!..You're..you're high right now aren't you? Aren't you! Answer me Sherlock!" His brother burst into a fit of giggles, pointing at his brother's face. "Hey 'Croft, why so red?" Mycroft glared daggers and fumed. He grabbed his brother's collar and pulled him upwards._

_"Listen to me Sherlock, you have to go back to rehab. It's for your own good! You have a brilliant mind and if you continue as you are you will destroy it! Please, do it for yourself. Not for me. I care about you and I do not want to stand around while you slowly kill yourself. You're my only brother Sherlock.."_

_Sherlock waved a hand, ignoring his brother's heart felt plea. "We used to be so close Sherlock, what went wrong? What did I do?" Sherlock glared this time. "You left me. Alone. You're the only person with gifts like mine. Father thinks me a freak, a good for nothing. Mummy is always upset, and you, this is all your fault. You told me be proud of my gifts, use them always, don't feel shame in having them. So I did and look what good it did me? No fucking friends, constantly bullied and unloved. Thanks 'Croft, great advice. Remind me never to take it again"_

_Saddened and unsure how to respond, I left. I knew deep down nothing I said would get through to him. Even if I forced rehab upon him, he'd just continue. But I refused to give up on him. And then one day he met an Inspector and everything changed. But it wasn't until he met you John that I feel he felt truly happy. Something was missing and you were it. Someone who understood him._

_Thank you John. Thank you. You were the brother I once was and could never be again._

* * *

John's eyes were welled up with tears. Oh Sherlock, if only we'd been at school together I would have shown you that you weren't alone, I would have beaten up those bullies, stopped you from using, or tried to. I would have been your friend. But then I was your friend and I still couldn't save you. Shit. God I still miss you.

Mary dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief and gave Mycroft a wavering smile. Mycroft returned it with one of his own. "There, I think thats enough of an emotional display from myself for a long time. Keep that for awhile John. It brings me nothing but sad memories right now." John nodded, cradling the album. "Thanks Mycroft, you didn't have to tell those stories, but I'm glad you did, I feel I understand him a bit better now. Thanks" He shook the offered hand and stood. "Me and Mary better be going but, it was good seeing you. Maybe, you'll pop around near Christmas?"

"I'll be sure to try. Goodbye John"

"Bye Mycroft"

* * *

"Made the copy yet Seb darling?"

"Yes Jim." The sniper gave an exasperated sigh. He handed the criminal a red envelope before leaving to go to the kitchen, desperately in need of a beer. The consultant criminal smiled with delight and took out his pen, scribbling a name and address onto the paper and licking the stamp seductively, before placing it in the corner.

"Mail this for me, Sebby"

"Do it yourself, you have legs"

"I also have enemies"

"Fine. But if I get shot, you have to make your own dinner"

"Of course Sebby, now off you pop"

Sebastian rolled his eyes and snatched the letter from his employers hands before stuffing it in his jacket and leaving the apartment. As he stuffed it in a mailbox he wondered briefly, the recipients expression when he saw the contents. Perhaps now Jim will turn his mind to more important matters and leave the Holmes brothers alone for awhile.

One could only hope.


	60. 60

Mycroft returned home to his brother, curled up on the couch, fast asleep, Irene playing tetris on her phone and Molly losing at solitaire. "So, how did things go?" Asked The Woman, without looking up. Mycroft responded with a fake smile. "Splendidly. How did things go here?" Molly snorted and shuffled the cards, she'd given up finding the King of Hearts. "That well?" Irene finally looked up as Mycroft swept past her to sit in one of the vacant chairs.

"Well, I think your brother has developed a bit of cabin fever."

"He's allowed to go outside"

"Yes but no where else."

Mycroft sighed. "What did he do?" Irene started a new game before replying. "Firstly he refused to eat anything on the basis that he wasn't hungry, before disappearing for half an hour. Then we found him up a tree outside, God knows how he got up there in his condition. Then after we get the poor man down, he complains that he's hungry after all and why aren't we feeding him?"

"Which we did" Molly interjected.

"Which we did. Then he clearly starts to become bored, he wouldn't stop tapping his foot, cracking his knuckles and sighing. So we brought out the cards and told him to play solitaire."

"Which he did"

"Which he did, winning several games in at least fifteen minutes. Your butler suggested a round of Brians of Britain, which went over swimmingly" Irene rolled her eyes. "Finally after another half hour he decided it was time to go outside again. I told him perhaps he ought to have a rest, he responds that he is perfectly fine and not in the least bit tired and decides to disappear again for about twenty minutes before myself and Molly found him asleep on the bench. He was brought inside and thats about it."

Mycroft spent about five minutes in total silence before chuckling and then laughing. The second out of character thing he had allowed himself today. "Perhaps he is on the mend then." Irene shrugged but looked slightly dubious. "He's still very quiet and soft spoken. I think the boredom just got to him or perhaps this is simply a Good Day." Mycroft nodded, trying for once to appear positive. Perhaps it was just a Good Day, perhaps it was the boredom, or just perhaps, his brother's personality was beginning to peek out. Hopefully it continued to do so. It had been sorely missed. Although Mycroft believed it might not ever fully return. And if it did, it would not be he who helped find it.

"Why don't you to go and have something for dinner, I'll keep watch on Tarzan here" Quipped Mycroft, referring to the earlier tree incident. Molly and Irene grinned and left, discussing whether they ought to have pizza or chinese. Mycroft moved to sit closer to his brother, pulling off the blanket that sat folded at the end of his bed and placed it over his sibling's sleeping body. "I hope you get better soon Sherlock. Your physical wounds are healing but it's not those that I'm worried about. It's that ones that were cut far deeper. Sleep well."

* * *

John and Mary returned home, with the album still tucked under John's arm. Mary placed a kiss on her boyfriends nose before heading towards the bathroom, intending to take a quick shower. The two of them were going out on a double date with Lestrade and his fiance. John wandered into the living room, resting the old album on his desk, next to the type writer and the almost-but-not-quite-finished manuscript of Hounds of Baskerville. Hounds of Baskerville or  _The_  Hounds of Baskerville? John hadn't decided yet but felt rather pleased with himself over the name.

"Darling! Do go change your outfit before they arrive!" Mary shouted, barely heard over the roar of the shower. John looked down at his clothes. What for? Nothing wrong with them. "What for Mary? They're perfectly alright!" Mary's responses was muffled. "What?". John pressed his ear against the wood. "I said theres two stains from this morning!" John turned the fabric over in his hands, sighing once he found two jam stains on his nice shirt. "Ok, you win! I'm going to go change."

"That's my boy"

* * *

A quick shirt change and a brush of blond hair later and John was ready to go. Mary was still getting ready. Why did women always seem to take forever to get ready to go out? Although, he thought, it wasn't strictly just women that did that. Sometimes Sherlock would take ages, particularly if he had to wear a disguise. But really, he'd been waiting for twenty minutes. How long does it take to put on a dress, makeup, jewellery and shoes? Long enough for the doorbell to ring apparently.

"Coming!" John picked up his cane and made his way to the door. It was Lestrade and Anna, a beautiful tall woman, with light brown hair. "Come in, come in!" John moved aside so they both could enter. "Mary's still getting ready" John pretended to sigh. "Ah, women" Lestrade chuckled, earning a slap from his fiance. John responded with a grin and seated himself back down. "So, Greg, how have you been?" Greg and Anna stared at each other before turning back to John.

"Great just great. Just paid off the mortgage a few days ago actually"

"Really? Thats wonderful mate! Congrats!"

"Thanks, thanks. Yeah, Anna's been for another check up. Everything is running smoothly with Baby. What about yourself?" John shrugged still smiling. "Oh you know, the usual. Working at the practice, finishing off Hounds."

"Oh yeah, hows that going? Almost done? Thats great! Still waiting for Memoirs to come out but that shouldn't be too long?"

"A week or two, with "The Government's" help. Brining out Hounds with the Book Launch"

"Right" Lestrade's lips twitched upwards, his eyes sweeping the flat while they waited. Hang on, that album was new, wasn't it? John followed his gaze, attempting to read the other's thoughts. "Seen him actually, today."

"Who?..Oh Mycroft. And he's doing ok is he? If you could tell anyway, man keeps his emotions to himself"

"Oh yeah, he looks a bit stressed, but considering his job..." Anna stood, excusing herself to go see Mary. "Yeah, poor guy has a lot on his plate doesn't he?" John nodded, gesturing to the album. "Gave me that, it's his, I expect he's got another." Lestrade pulled himself up and made his way to the desk. "Some sort of photo album is it?" He asked as he opened the cover, his eyebrows rasing as he recognised the cheeky grin that greeted him. "This is Sherlock! Isn't it? Looks like him, well a smaller version of him." The doctor laughed. "Yeah thats him. Mycroft.. told me a lot of stories about their childhood, supposed he wanted someone else to actually know about his life. He's the only Holmes left now I think"

"Poor sod"

"Yeah."

"Good stories?"

"Very good stories. Did you know Sherlock wanted to be a pirate as a child? Even dressed up as one?" This earnt him another laugh from the grey haired Inspector. "Did he really? There was some blackmail fodder if there ever was any."

"Yeah, looks like it wasn't actually a very happy childhood"

"Well we always expected that it wasn't."

"Father seemed a bit abusive, both parents were largely out of the picture, Mycroft seems to have raised him mostly by himself. Though Sherlock sounded like he was a very happy little boy, at least for awhile."

"Right little trouble maker i expect. Thats good to know, certainly looks happy in the pictures."

"And cheeky"

"Well he was that, in his own way, wasn't he? You'd know better than I would"

"Oh yeah, regular overgrown imp"

"You miss him still, I'm sorry John" The doctor dismissed Lestrade's concern, giving him a half-hearted smile. "It's ok, eleven months on, almost a year, don't think I will ever stop missing him, but thats ok. Do you? I mean, do you still miss him?"

"All the time mate. Idiot may have been an arrogant, brilliant bastard, but he was a good man, especially in the end, thanks to you. You made him human. Well you brought out the human qualities he had repressed. And, in the end, he was my friend. Even thought of the bloke like a ..but anyway."

"...Thanks. God Christmas is going to be hard isn't it? You still coming?" He decided not to press the matter of what exactly Lestrade thought of Sherlock like.

"Yep, if you'll have us. Who else is coming?"

"Of course we'll have you! Let's see, Mycroft might be, Molly definitely will, so will Mrs Hudson, Harry..maybe, if she sobers up. She and Clara are back together so it's a possibility." Lestrade opened his mouth to reply. "..Wow mate.." John looked confused for a second before spinning his head around to see his absolutely gorgeous girlfriend walk towards him in a beautiful blue dress. "Bloody hell Mary." She giggled and pinched his cheek.

"Everyone ready to go?" Three loud yeses indicated that they most definitely were. John offered Mary his arm, who let out another small giggle and took it. "Ready Mr Watson?"

"Absolutely Miss Morstan"

Lestrade and Anna smiled at one another and followed their hosts, Greg pleased that John was so happy. It was always nice to see a smile on his face after so many frowns and sad eyes. John deserved to be happy after what he'd been through. They all did.

* * *

"Mycroft?"

"What, Irene? I am reading and please keep your voice down, you'll wake our sleeper"

"I don't really care frankly, you have mail"

"And you know the Postman, or you know what he likes."

"Oh very funny. I mean it." She brandished a red envelope. "Something doesn't seem right. I know you have all your mail screened, and this appears to contain a dvd."

"Your point being?"

"The envelope. I think it's pretty obvious who it is from"

"Without actually looking at it, I can deduce nothing, however from your tone I can deduce more. Have we received some friendly mail for our consulting criminal?" Mycrofts words, while they seemed polite, were positively laced with barely contained hatred. Irene nodded, handing him the envelope. "Perhaps, it should be watched in another room, I can keep an eye on him" Mycroft nodded, barely listening as he turned the slim package over in his hands. He raised himself up before nodding to Irene and leaving the room, anxious over what could possibly be on the disc. He prayed it was not what he was thinking of.


	61. 61

Mycroft headed towards his own study, the package still tightly gripped in his hand. He had notions on what was on it. He both wanted and was terrified of seeing it. He needed to know but at the same time he was scared about what he might see. Mycroft shut the door behind him, locking it securely and sat down at his desk. A laptop sat, waiting. He removed the disc from it's packaging, placing it in the computer and waited. Should he wear headphones? No, this room was mostly soundproof, there was only one person in the building who should not see the contents of this disc and he was sleeping.

A menu screen appeared. Very simple. There appeared to be four videos, each labeled. Me First, Terror, Pain, Cracks. Me First showed a frozen image of one James Moriarty. Mycroft didn't even realise that his hands had clenched into fists. He took a deep breath and moved the cursor over the first box and clicked.

_The image unfroze. Moriarty was seated in a luxurious brown leather armchair, in an immaculate white suit, a glass of wine in one hand._

_"Hello dear Mycroft. How are you? Stressed most likely. Understandable. Angry perhaps as well, angry at me, angry at yourself. Guilty maybe. Over what happened to your little brother. Oh you lost him again didn't you? How sad. You really need to keep a closer eye on him. But it's ok, because you found him didn't you? Congratulations!" He raised his glass in a mock toast._

_"And how did you find him? Not what you thought was it. Not what you hoped. You hoped to find him alive, whole, himself. But you didn't did you? You found him broken, alive but missing. I know, I watched it happen. Admittedly I never meant for things to go that far, I wanted him broken but I wanted him still responsive. But once he retreated, I had little use for him. We were going to send him to London, kill him in front of dear John. But then you had to show up and ruin everything."_

Mycroft's hands clenched tighter, the knuckles going white.  _"How is dear Lockie now? Hopefully still a broken mess, as long as he stays such, he stays alive, he stays safe! So I'd keep a close eye on him this time. Don't want to lose dear baby brother again do you? But aren't you curious as to how he came to be that way? I compiled three videos for you. Just so you can see, just a glimpse, of what happened to your little brother. Enjoy, Mycroft Holmes, I hope to see you real soon. Kisses!" He blew one at the screen and the video stopped._

He was right about the contents then. He needed to know some of what had happened to Sherlock. Even if it hurt to watch, even if it gave him nightmares, it wasn't like he didn't already have those. Mycroft was going to hate it and himself later but he had to know. Maybe it would help, maybe he could help Sherlock if he understood things better. So he moved the cursor over the next video, Terror and clicked play.

* * *

"Is there a reason you called me and asked me to the pub? Or are you going to make me guess?" John smiled into his pint as he watched the Inspector stumble over his words. "Look, I need to ask you something John, and you don't have to say yes, just hear me out. Ok?"

"Alright, I'm all ears mate"

"I want you to be my Best Man"

John almost spat out his beer. Was he serious? Him, the best man? Surely someone from the force, or someone like a family member would be better suited for the job. Why him? "M-me? Are you sure mate? Really, me? Bloody hell" It was a good thing he was drinking. Lestrade grinned and laughed, lifting his mug to his lips. "Yeah mate, look you've been a great friend and, we'll I don't have any brothers and I don't feel I know anyone in the force as well as I know you, so I just thought..anyway. What do you say? Say yes mate, come on"

He couldn't really refuse such an honour, could he? "Sure mate, I'd love to be your Best Man. That means I get to organise your stag doesn't it? Brilliant" Oh he could already see plans forming in his mind and so could Greg. "Nothing ridiculous or embarrassing John" He teased.

"Oh I wouldn't dream of embarrassing the great Detective Inspector. You'll let me know all the details as they come, right?"

"Yup"

"Great. Thanks" Wow.

"Don't mention it"

They both finished their pints in pleasurable silence.

* * *

Mycroft knelt on the floor, picking up the broken pieces of his wine glass, wincing as one cut into his finger. It was inexcusable anger that was the cause of it smashing against the carpet. And understandable reaction though, the video he had just witnessed. His brother, huddled against a wall, chained to it.

_Crying out, screaming at nothing. Screaming in terror, in fright at an invisible monster. And then crying out his heart, over the bodies he believed he was seeing lying bleeding on the floor in front of him. And he unable to go and comfort or save them. Bodies of his friends, of Lestrade, of Molly, of Mrs Hudson, of Irene and especially of John. Even of Mycroft. Sherlock had been absolutely terrified and Mycroft ached to see him in such a way. The video played similar scenes over and over until Sherlock no longer screamed, he just whimpered._

The next video was Pain.

* * *

Molly handed Irene a small glass of juice and sat opposite her, watching the other woman stroke back Sherlock's curls as he slept. "He looks so innocent when he's sleeping" She said quietly, unsure really how to act around this woman. "He is innocent in a lot of ways I think, especially after what happened to him. He's more..fragile now. More vulnerable."

"I hate it"

"So do I. The worst thing is, he may never recover from it. I actually miss the sarcasm, the insults." Molly smiled slightly. "Me too. God he could be so infuriating, but you still couldn't help but like him. I'll miss the side of him, if it doesn't return I mean" Irene nodded. "So will I". Molly stared into her drink. She wasn't as shy as she used to be, but she was unsure of herself around Irene. Irene who was beautiful, more so than herself. Irene who was so confident and smart. Molly envied her. No wonder Sherlock liked her. Maybe if Molly had been like Irene, Sherlock would have liked her more. But that was just silly, she didn't even really have a crush on him anymore.

"You've known him for a long time haven't you?

Molly shrugged. "In a way, he was always coming into the morgue or the labs at St Barts. Everyone thought he was an arrogant prat, which he was, I guess. But, I don't know, every so often I'd see this other side of him. I found that I was really the only one who could stand dealing with him, well me and Mike Stamford. I wouldn't say that I knew him very well though." Irene smiled, sipping from her glass. "I envy you"

"You what? Me? Why, y-you're pretty and smart and..Sherlock likes you" Irene shook her head sadly. "You are very pretty Molly darling and smarter than you give yourself credit for. No, I envy the trust Sherlock has in you, the obvious friendship and care that he feels for you. I'm something that fascinates him but, I don't think I am held in the realms of friendship. You are. So, I envy you Molly Hooper" Molly swallowed quickly and flushed.

"Wow, thanks."

* * *

_Pain had been infinitely worse than Terror. Pain was a series of clips. Of whips and burns. Of cuts and fists. Of screaming, of whimpering. Of begging. Of blood. Mycroft had felt sick to his stomach. He had even dry retched into the waste basket that sat beneath the desk. The images of his brother being tortured wouldn't leave him mind. Nor would the ones where he barely responded. Where he could clearly see his brother start to run away from reality. When it had come to Jim gleefully burning a brand into his little brother's sole, it had taken all his restraint not to throw the laptop to the floor._

He took a deep breath. One video left. Just one and it would be all over. He clicked it.

Cracks.

_Sherlock sat, his back pressed against the cell wall, his arms around his knees, sobbing. Blood streamed down his face from a cut on his head. Bruises were clearly seen on his arms and face. Even through the grainy footage. He sobbed into his knees for several minutes before he lay down on the cold floor, still curled into himself._

_Another clip. Sherlock curled on the floor once again, his back bare and bleeding. Sherlock was sobbing, begging. Please save me. He said. Someone, anyone. Someone save me. John save me. Mycroft save me. Lestrade save me. His tears were such that his whole body would heave, which caused him considerably pain._

_Please, please come and find me._

_Please._

_Another clip. Sherlock hugged his knees, flinching as his captors threw jeers in his direction. You're all alone. No one is coming. No, Sherlock was adamant. Someone would find him, someone had to find him. Soon. Soon. He wept._

_This new clip had Jim. He knelt next to the curled figure on the floor. Unsure. It was clear this was not exactly what he wanted. He prodded the body. It let out a small pain filled cry. Oh Sherlock, Sherlock, whispered Jim. Help me. No one is coming to help you Sherlock. No you're wrong. They'll save me. Who? J-john. John doesn't care, John thinks you're dead. M-mycroft will come. Dear brother? He won't come Sherlock, he doesn't care. None of them care._

_Jim pressed down the plunger of a small needle, watching a small amount of liquid spurt out, before he pressed it into Sherlock's arm. The detective gasped. Sssh, Lockie. Listen to me. They aren't coming, they don't care. What did I say? Come on now. Jim pressed his hand against a dark bruise. A whimper._

_They c-care. They don't. They hate you Sherlock. N-no, you're wrong. I showed you the footage. Not real. Come now my dear. I wouldn't lie to you. No..n-no. There, there, Jim is here for you._

_The last video was of Sherlock appeared to be not long before he was found. He only caught one word. Let me die._

Mycroft felt hot liquid sting his eyes and he let them fall, ashamed. This was his fault. He had failed to find his brother, he had let him fall into Moriarty's clutches because he was paying attention. Never again. He would find Jim Moriarty and he would crush him. Not before he saved his brother though. Not before he brought back what was lost.

I care Sherlock and I will save you.


	62. 62

After placing the disc into a lockable drawer of his desk, which was pointless really considering both Irene and Sherlock would be able to pick the lock, he sighed, pulled himself out of his chair and headed back to Sherlock's room. It was late and if his brother was still lying on the couch he ought to be woken up and moved into his bed. The couch was not a comfortable place to sleep, not that Sherlock did a lot of that anyway. Though he did considerably a lot more than he used to. A lot more nightmares too.

Molly was asleep in her chair, Irene had thrown a blanket over her while she quietly watched a soap opera. She glanced at Mycroft upon his arrival, noting the bags and the attempt to wipe away dried tear stains under his eyes, his still clenching fists and basically his overall demeanour. Whatever had been on the dvd had not been pleasant. "Everything all right?" She whispered, turning off the TV. He nodded and gently shook Molly's shoulders. "Time to sleep in your own room, Miss Hooper, you too Miss Adler." He waited until they both stood, Irene's eyes quietly asking questions to which Mycroft refused to answer.

"Sleep well"

* * *

Once they had left, he walked towards his little brother and removed his blanket. It was cruel but he really should be sleeping in his bed. Mycroft hadn't slept in his own bed for weeks. Tonight was to be no exception, so Sherlock needed to move, because Mycroft required the couch to sleep on. He gently shook Sherlock, who groaned and swatted at him. "Come on Sherlock, it's time to wake up". Two pale eyes stared up at him blearily, very confused. "What time is it?" He yawned, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. "Time for you to go to bed"

"But.. I was just sleeping.."

"On the couch, if I meant it was time for you to go to sleep on the couch, I would have said, time to go to couch Sherlock. But I didn't. I said bed. Which is where you will go" Wow, Mycroft was in one of his moods tonight. Wonderful. "Right...ok" No arguments from Sherlock, unnatural, I don't like it, thought Mycroft as he watched his baby brother unsteadily stand and make his way to his bed. Mycroft waited until Sherlock was in bed before taking off his dressing gown and shoes and lying down on the couch.

"What happened?" The question was uncertain, as if the asker felt strange about inquiring, as if he wasn't used to asking such a question. "What makes you think something has happened?" Sherlock switched off the lamp on his bedside table. "Well.. you don't seem to be in a good mood.."

"I'm not"

"You, don't want to tell me?"

"You don't need to know Sherlock. I just saw something, unsettling thats all"

"Oh. It's cold"

"Yes, funny that. Considering it's Winter"

"Wow. Um...I should probably shut up then." Mycroft might bite my head off if I say something else. He heard a sigh. "I'm sorry Sherlock, goodnight"

"Goodnight Myc"

* * *

He wouldn't shut up. Why wouldn't he shut up? He'd been playing loud music for hours. It was driving Sebastian up the wall. It was three o'clock in the bloody morning, Jim may not sleep sometimes but he sodding did! Pulling on his grey dressing gown Sebastian picked up his hand gun and headed towards Jim's bedroom.

The psychopath was lazing in his bed, in his initialed black, skull patterned pyjamas, listening to some stupid classical song, at the highest possible volume. "What are you doing? Do you know what bloody time it is!" Jim turned and smiled, pressing a button on the remote. "Oh, evening Seb!" He patted at a spot on his bed. "No, I'm not bloody sitting down. It's past three A.M. I have a job tomorrow. Will you shut off your sodding music!"

"No"

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want to"

"Well then maybe I should just turn off the sodding power."

"I have it on my iPod"

"Then listen to it that way! I'm trying to sleep!"

"Aw, look at you, my poor Sebby, you're so cute when you're angry" Sebastian was positively fuming. "I'm not your poor anything! ." Jim shrugged and switched it off. Sebastian could be very over dramatic sometimes. He was just relaxing. But he needed his sniper. Best let him get some sleep. "There, happy? Now come and sleep with me"

"God no"

"..Thats not really what I was implying this time.."

"Oh, really? Jim Moriarty decided to not flirt with something or someone today? What a surprise! Call the Press!"

"You really are in a mood."

"No shit Jim! I have to shoot three people in the morning, I need my sleep! My boss is off his rocker, obsessing over a bloody cracked up detective, our money is going down the drain and your "magnificent" empire is being picked to pieces, bit by bit. I seem to be the only one who cares, so excuse me if I'm in a bad, bloody, mood!" Sebastian about faced and stormed off leaving a very confused but mostly unconcerned Jim, who responded by whistling. "Wow, good thing he's a guy, I don't think I could handle the PMS"

* * *

_The room was dark and cold. Mycroft shivered and his made his way out and down a never-ending hallway. It seemed to sway side to side, a door could be seen at the very end. But every time he got close to it, it moved further away from him._

_Finally he drew close enough to open it. To see Sherlock. In his patented coat and scarf. He regarded Mycroft with a bemused look. "What do you want?" He sneered. "You, I've been looking for you." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "How's the diet?" Mycroft sighed. "Fine. Now, will you come with me?"_

_"No"_

_'Why not? I've been searching for you for ages" Sherlock shrugged. "It's too late"_

_"What do you mean?"_

_"It's too late to save me" Mycroft took a step back. "It's not too late, don't say such stupid things" Sherlock grinned wickedly and stepped closer to Mycroft. "It's too late, brother dear. You lost me. It's time to face facts. You are and always have been a terrible older brother. You gave me advice that led to me being friendless, you abandoned me and I turned to drugs" The closer Sherlock got, the further away Mycroft stepped. He was tongue tied. Dreams were sort of annoying like that._

_"And then I finally get a friend and you had to ruin that too didn't you? You let out Jim Moriarty with everything he needed to bring me down. And then I died. But it was all right, cause I got better!" Sherlock was in full sarcasm mode. "And then, ooh then what happened? You let him catch me again, didn't you. And then you let him break me because you didn't get there soon enough. Now all you can do is moan about the fact that I'm different. You want the old me back. Well I have some bad news about that, I'm afraid. You can't. The old me is dead. Learn to live with what you've done Mycroft. You did this to me, you always do this to me."_

_"No"_

_"You. Failed. Me"_

_"No, I did not and I will get you back!"_

_"You lost. You failed."_

_"Wrong again Sherlock. I can fix this!"_

_"All your fault. Everything. Does it make you feel powerful? Knowing the pain and suffering you've caused your little brother?" Sherlock began to morph into the smiling face of Jim Moriarty. "Did you like finding him like that?" Mycroft found his feet once again and ran towards Jim. He raised his hands towards the other's neck, only for his hands to go right through him and for the criminal to poof into a puff of grey smoke. And appear behind him._

_"Oh, naughty naughty! And you call me the monster? I think you have the two of us confused. You failed your dear baby brother and you know you are to blame. Quit blaming someone else. You can't bring back what was lost. It's gone, I destroyed it. You destroyed it. Get over it. Learn to live with it. And have fun explaining it to John when the time comes. Oh hi there, Doctor Watson, your best friend is alive but I'm afraid he was captured by his worst enemy and he ripped apart his soul. I was distracted at the time. Terribly sorry."_

_Mycroft fumed but felt helpless, Jim laughed with joyous abandon. "I'd pay to see that. Good bye Mycroft. It's been fun!"_

* * *

Mycroft sat upright, panting and sweating. With a hand against his chest, it took several deep breaths before his heart rate was under control. A glass of water was thrust into his hands. "Are you alright?" His brother's face looked concerned.

"You should be sleeping"

"You woke me up."

"Ah.. apologies" Mycroft gladly sipped the liquid. "What were you dreaming about? You kept calling my name. Like you couldn't find me." Mycroft shook his head, ignoring the worried look he wasn't used to seeing. "Just a nightmare. Doesn't matter. Thank you for the water and go back to sleep. I'll be fine in the morning" Sherlock looked unconvinced but headed back to his bed. "Just because you keep saying that doesn't make it true" He whispered.

"Goodnight Sherlock"

"Goodnight Myc" Again.


	63. 63

**Author's Note**

I just want to take the time to thank you all. For your support, for believing in my friend. For not believing the lies. It means more to me than you will ever know.

I know it's somewhat odd to release a book after I have written about the death of Sherlock Holmes. But I felt that I needed to finish Memoirs first. I had been putting it off for far too long. Fortunatly I had almost finished this book. I'm grateful to a man who will go un-named, for getting my books through the publishing process faster than normal and I'm glad to be able to honor the memory of my best friend in this manner.

I still miss him, everyday. It saddens me that no one took the time to know him as I did. They only saw the cold exterior, they never bothered to look behind it as I did and see the lonely, vulnerable boy. To see a man which a morbid sense of humour, who could make me laugh and cry in a matter of minutes. Who drove me up the wall but who I couldn't help but like. I saw the laughter, I saw the smiles, the cheeky antics, I saw the real Sherlock. It's a pity no one else got the chance.

And now he's gone. No amount of wishing can bring him back. He died a hero and I am so bloody proud. He once told me there was no such things as heroes and if there were, he wouldn't be one of them. How wrong he was, for once I was right, but I wish he wasn't my proof. The pain still hurts, as a solider, I know in some way it always will. What still scares me is the fact that it's almost been a year. And that one day that will be two years and three years. One day I'll look back and this will all have been a distant memory. These will all be stories I sit down and tell my children about and my grandchildren.

I want to move on from the pain but not from the memory of my best friend. Writing these books has been my therapy, my way of insuring he will always be remembered in the pages of history but most importantly, I can sit down and be immersed in the world I miss whenever I open the covers of these books. And I hope you can all sit down and join me.

Thank you.

John H. Watson.

* * *

"You certainly know how to break a person's heart John" His publisher dabbed at the corner's of her eyes. John looked sheepish and rubbed the back of his neck. "I just write what I feel. Maybe it's a bit sensationalised but.."

"I like it. But then I've liked all the books so far."

"Thank you"

"No, thank you. I will make sure it's published as soon as possible. Speaking of which, Memoirs went out on the shelves yesterday, I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to tell you." John's face lit up. "That's great! I got my copy in the mail already but thats.. thats really great!" The publisher's face broke into a smile. "I've scheduled the book launch for a Thursday two weeks from now."

"Will Hounds even be out by then?"

"With your luck, I wouldn't be surprised. But with Christmas coming up I don't want to take any chances, I want these stories to fly off the shelves!"

"Thank you, I can't wait! Wow, this is, all happening so fast. But I guess thats how I like things." He stood and shook her hand. "See you in two weeks."

"In two weeks Mr Watson"

* * *

Sherlock sat on the couch, moping. It was cold, so he was still in his pyjamas and dressing gown with a thick, woolly blanket wrapped around him. Mycroft observed him from one of the other arm chairs, a steaming cup of tea in his hands. His brother looked bored, sad, lonely and lost. He wished he could do something but nothing he had said ever seemed to get through to him. Except, perhaps one thing. He stood suddenly and left the room, Sherlock looked up confused, had he done something wrong? No, Mycroft would have said. Wouldn't he?

His brother soon returned with a stack of files, sitting back down and searching through each one, rejecting them. Until he stopped and placed the others to his side. "Here Sherlock" The file was handed to him. It was one of the aliases they had come up with at the start of all this. It had gone unused because they had found little need for it. So why was Mycroft giving this to him now? "I don't understand" His brother then handed him a package. Inside were three of John's books. Sherlock already had Normund's copies, this looked well loved and dog-eared. They had no inscription on the inside. "Why have you given me these?"

"These are you own copies, or rather, Basil's own copies."

"Basil...?"

"You don't like the name?"

"It's not.. a bad name. But Baker? Basil..Baker?"

"What's wrong with it?"

"..Nothing.. Basil Baker is fine. It's a ..good name"

"It was either Basil or Benedict. And Basil sounded better in my opinion"

Maybe this is why I normally choose the names, thought Sherlock as he re-read the file. "You will be going undercover to John's book launch next week." Sherlock looked up in surprise. "He's having a book launch next week? Why.. why am I going? Is he in danger? Mycroft, if John is in danger, it's in his best interest for you to cancel the launch" Mycroft gave his brother a small smile. "If he was, I would, but he isn't"

"But then why...?"

"Sherlock, I know how much you miss your friend and as much as we would both like to reveal you're alive, it's unsafe to do so. I can't stand to watch you wander these rooms like a lonely ghost any longer. If this will brighten your day for just awhile, then I'm willing to let you go see him. But only in disguise."

"Mycroft I...thank you"

Mycroft cleared his throat. "Don't mention it. Now, do you think you can act the part? You haven't exactly been the cheeriest of persons lately. You don't even truly smile anymore. Can you pull this off?" Sherlock looked down at the file. Basil seemed just the sort of person John might take a liking too and a welcome alternative to Normund and more importantly himself. The more he thought about this, the more excited he became and an old spark that had been missing in his eyes lit up. It might not last for long, they both thought, but for now, something that had been missing for so long was rekindled once more. And that was all that really mattered in the end.

* * *

Irene had been delegated stylist, with Molly's help as the expert on all things adorable. Which is what she had dubbed Basil. No.. not adorable, it was some other word. Adorkable. What did that even mean? They had dyed his hair, a process he had not missed and Irene had cut it as well. It was short, just above his ears, but still long. Much like a bowl cut style but fair trendier, according to Irene anyway. She normally knew these sorts of things. Molly had suggested thick, dark rimmed glasses to make his eyes seem bigger and chocolate brown contact lenses. Irene had insisted on some makeup to make him look less pale and hide his fading facial scars.

Then came the clothes. In the end, Irene had surrendered to Molly's choices. Though they debated over the colours. Sherlock felt he had no say in this at all. A dark brown hoodie was selected, Molly really liked hoodies, as well as a pair of faded blue jeans. Next came a top to wear underneath. A white tee with a talking bee. Why was it talking? Why did it have a smiling face? Molly thought it was cute and made the excuse that it was a play on his alias' name, Basil Baker, B.B. So Irene had started to call him Baby. Wonderful. Life couldn't get any more annoying. The outfit was finally finished off with a pair of brown and gold, tartan converse shoes...and crutches?

"Why crutches?" Sherlock finally found his voice.

"Basil is describe as clumsy, plus you can shorten your height by slouching over. And...Sherlock you do have a bit of a limp remember?"

"..No I don't"...It's not psychosomatic.. it really is still injured.

"Yes well, it's safer you use these. Cuter too!"

"Crutches..are cute?"

"On you they will be! Now off you pop and get changed"

* * *

He looked like a completely different person. He didn't even recognise himself in the mirror. Sure the lips and cheekbones were still there and the nose, but everything else was not Sherlock Holmes but Basil Baker. He only hoped it was enough to fool John Watson. He didn't want to fool John, he wanted nothing more than to reveal that he was not dead but in fact alive but his friends safety hung in the balance and Sherlock believed John would not like the man he had become.

* * *

Irene grinned at her handiwork when Sherlock stepped out and Molly almost squealed in delight, taking a photo to add to her ever growing album. "Are you ready for this Sherlock? Really?"

"No...but I don't care. I have to go. I have to see him." Irene patted his arm and handed him the canvas shopping bag that carried his books and several personal items such as a fake phone, wallet, reciets etc, even a small digital camera. He gave her a small, grateful smile.

"Good luck" They both told him.

"Thank you" He replied and followed his brother out the doorway, his heart beginning to pound in his chest.

* * *

"Oh calm down John. Deep breaths. It's just a book launch"

"I know but.. it feels like such a big deal"

"The worst is over, you made the speech, you've had your tea, and in a minute you will go back out their to your adoring public and sign many, many books."

"That's really not helping Mary" She stuck out her tongue. "Oh now you're just being childish"

"Says the man who spent all of Tuesday in only his pants because he was too lazy to put his clothes in the washing machine?"

"Aw come on, I did that one time!"

"Or the man who spent yesterday watching Finding Nemo"

"It's a good movie!"

"For children"

"For everyone. Anyway, I'm just nervous thats all. There are a lot of people out there that I know. This is just a really big deal. And fans can get a little...fanatic"

"I know John. I know this means a lot to you. Now, come on." She fixed his tie and followed him out of the office.

* * *

"Thank you for coming, have a nice day!"

"Wow, I love your badge!" John grinned and the little girl with pigtails. "Have you read all these books?"

"Yep! Well.. daddy helped me."

"You have a great daddy" She giggled. "What story was your favourite?"

"Umm.. the one with the ninjas! Did Mr Sherlock have a lotta constumes?"

"Oh tons. I used to tease him about it all the time"

"You must miss him very much"

"Yes I do." He finished signing her books and handed them back to her father. "Thank you Mr Watson!" John gave her a wave and sighed. "Boy, my hand is aching and look at that line!"

"No rest for the wicked dear John"

"Wicked am I Mary?"

"Positively evil" They shared a grin before John turned his attention to the next fan.

"Hello, nice to meet you!" John smiled and looked up into the young man's face. He was young, with reddish-brown hair and oversized glasses. He seemed serious for a moment, as if studying John and then his face suddenly broke into a huge goofy smile and John himself couldn't help but smile back

"Hello!..My name's Basil! It's really awesome to finally meet you!"


	64. 64

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: To have some idea on what Basil looks like, go google Benedict's Stephan Hawking.

John shot out his hand and grasped the other's in a friendly shake. This seem to please, Basil was it? To no end. Basil grabbed it tightly and shook it with both hands, grinning giddily the entire time and trying not to fall off his crutches. "Pleasure to meet you Basil" Basil bit his lower lip as if to contain his obvious excitement. "Likewise. I'm a big fan of your blog, and Sherlock's blog too! When I heard you were having a book launch, I couldn't wait to meet you in person! I have all your books..really happy to finally meet you. Sorry..I should probably shut up before I start rambling" He laughed, looking slightly embarrassed and then remembered to actually get out the books.

Basil leaned heavily on his crutches whilst attempting to retrieve the four books, Hounds having been released on this particular day, at this particular launch. However this clearly did not go according to plan as Basil leaned to far to the right and toppled over into a small display of books. John didn't know whether to laugh and see if the boy was alright. Thankfully another fan helped poor, embarressed, Basil upright. Blushing ferociously, Basil placed the four novels in front of John and apologised.

"No need to say sorry to me mate, not your fault. What did you do anyway?" John inquired as he took the first book and began to write. "My girlfriend Milly just got this little puppy, Gladstone, cause he was found in a Gladstone bag poor thing. Anyway he got in my way and I tried to side step him but tripped and fell down the stairs."

"Thats terrible! Clearly you aren't alright but were you badly hurt?" Mary chimed in with a concerned look. She couldn't help but notice how utterly adorable the young man was. Basil looked sheepish. "Not too bad Miss. Emergency room is used to me anyway. I'm a bit of a klutz you might say." Mary tried to give him a sympathetic look and was rewarded with another beaming smile. John grinned as while, though something kept niggling in the back of his mind.

This guy seemed so familiar. Had he met before? Basil doesn't think they have but then why did he seem so bloody familiar? John's eyes widened slightly as he released it was the fact that the boy had thin face and high cheekbones and chided himself. People with such looks always seemed to remind him of Sherlock. It had been all he could do to hold himself together whenever he saw a tall man with cheekbones, back when it had only been weeks since Sherlock's death. "Is your girlfriend here today?" Asked Mary. Basil shook his head.

"She's a nurse so no. She wanted to come, said she'd pick me up though. Kinda made for each other aren't we? Me the clumsy idiot and she the caring nurse." He grinned foolishly as he watched John finish signing the last book. "Well thank you very much for coming Basil. It was a pleasure to meet you" Basil placed all four books back in his bag and laughed. "It was wonderful to meet you Mr Watson. Really, you have no idea." He went on his way still grinning.

* * *

The book launch was finally over, the book shop itself was starting to close. Mary was off in the lady's room so John had packed up his things and decided to wait outside for her. And spotted a familiar figure. A tall, slim young man with short brown hair was waiting on a bench, his crutches by his side and Hounds of Baskerville in his hands. John wondered if his girlfriend had forgotten to pick him up, as it was getting quite dark, cold and late. He picked up his boxes and moved to sit next to the other man. Who was very surprised to see him.

"Mr Watson! W-what are you doing here?" Was he worried? Scared? John noted the small tremor in his voice.

"Waiting for Mary. What about you? And please, just John, not Mr Watson." Basil broke into one of his warm smiles that made John immediately smile back. But there was a hint of sadness in Basil's grin.

"I think she must have forgotten me. Understandable, I mean she's very busy and sometimes she'll get home and go straight to sleep. And I don't say a lot when she's like that, because I know she's tired and everything. So, I'm sure she's just tired and forgot me and...I'm rambling aren't I?" His cheekbones flushed and John patted his shoulder, the other man jumping at the touch.

"Just a little bit mate. You alright though? You seem a bit on edge"

"...I think she plans to dump me to be honest Mr Wat-...John. Who'd want me? The klutz, detective fanboy, the egghead. I'm studying physics and engineering you see, always get called egghead, silly really. She's wonderful and I really like her but.. I don't think she really likes me anymore.." John shook his head. "Don't think that way mate. I'm sure she likes you fine, woman can be a bit, complicated to understand sometimes. And if she doesn't, her loss"

"Speaking from experience? Sorry, that was rude of me" The sheepish look returned. John gave him a reassuring smile. "You really a big fan?"

"Yeah. Like even before you had your blog, I found Sherlocks. Love mysteries. Sherlock seemed like this really smart bloke and I loved reading about his deductions and how he solved the crimes. And then you came along! And I just loved reading your blog too."

"Thank you"

"No problem really! I hope you don't think it's creepy or anything. I loved reading the book as they came out and I'm glad Sherlock was cleared of all charges in the end. I always believed in him"

'Thank you, really. That means a lot."

"I'm sorry.. you must really miss him. Well of course you do, he was your friend." Basil looked as if he had said something wrong and was trying to correct himself. "Yeah. I do miss him. He was a bloody idiot but he was my bloody idiot. Just a pity I didn't get to spend more time with him." John's eyes had become a little misty, as they sometimes did when he talked about Sherlock Holmes. "I'm sorry"

"Not your fault mate, not your fault" But it is John.

"I know but, I mean for bringing it up and everything. I'm sorry, I don't tend to pay attention to what I'm saying until after i've said it"

"Really mate it's ok."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure"

By now it had become very dark and cold, John could see Mary waited patiently outside the shop doors. The doctor supposed he should say goodbye and head home with Mary but could he really leave this poor kid on his own? "You ok to get home? We're just taking a cab, you can join us if you like. I don't mind splitting the fare"

"I..I.. um. Are you sure?"

"Of course. Anything for a fan mate. Come on, up you get" He grabbed Basil's cold hand and pulled him up, handing the kid his crutches. John then headed back to Mary. "Kid's girlfriend hasn't shown up and frankly I don't think she plans to"

"Oh the poor dear"

"He's going to hop in our cab with us. Cabbie can drop us home and take Basil home after"

"Good idea, not safe for a sweet boy like him, on crutches, at this time of the night."

Basil approached the two with a timid smile and followed them to a waiting cab.

* * *

Meanwhile back at Mycroft's house, Irene, Molly and Mycroft himself were engaged in an important operation. Operation Cheer Up Sherlock. The title had been Irene's idea. They were all decorating the entire house with Christmas decorations and rather elaborate ones at that. It had been a long time since Mycroft had bothered to put up any decorations at all for this holiday. Neither Mycroft or Sherlock had been particularly interested in celebrating it.

Until John came along.

The two brothers generally sent a christmas card back and forth, if they remembered. The same christmas card that was. Which now resembled a sewn up, handmade book. Each year they would add a page and a message. It had been sent back and forth since Sherlock was about sixteen years old. This year would be different. This year they would celebrate and have a proper christmas just like they used too.

Sherlock's room even had it's own tree, with christmas decorations in white, silver and blue. Molly had found a gothic star tree topper. Complete with silver skull. The rest of the room was decorated as well. All it needed was presents. Now that was going to be tricky. But to be totally honest, Mycroft was willing to do anything to put a smile on his brother's face and at least to hear one sarcastic comment.

* * *

"So what do you do Basil?"

"Well, I um, I'm a student. Pyshics and engineering."

'Wow, pretty impressive."

"Thankyou!" Another grin.

Silence.

"I hope thing work out with you and your girlfriend Basil"

"Thanks John. I hope they do too. Considering she rented the placed before I moved in. She'd probably kick me out if things... didn't" Poor kid didn't seem to have any luck.

"You could stay with friends"

"..Don't have that many to be honest. Aw but it's alright. I'll get by, always do!" John grinned and patted his shoulder again. "Well this is our stop. It was very nice to meet you Basil. We should meet again sometimes. Just hit me up on my blog if you're interested." John was again rewarded with that goofy, excited smile. "I will! Thanks John! See you later!" Basil waved as the cab drove off.

And stopped once he was out of John's line of sight, the smile dropping, the waving hand pressed against the glass. Sherlock's fingers curled inwards as he watched John's disappearing figure.

"Soon John, I hope I see you again soon.


	65. 65

He leaned back into the leather seat and brought up his knees, wrapping his thin arms around them. He shivered, his hoodie only supplied him with a limited amount of warmth. The cabbie turned a corner heading home, he was in Mycroft's employ of course. Too many cabbies, read two, had tried to kill Sherlock, so his brother thought it best to bring home his brother in a cab he could trust.

Sherlock allowed the ghost of a smile to fill his lips. He'd seen John. And not from afar either but face to face. Not all of Basil's smiles had been mere acting. Just seeing John had brought them to his face. Seeing John had made him feel happy for the first time in months. But it was a bittersweet sort of happiness. Who knew the next time they would meet? If they ever would again? And would things ever be the same as they once were? John had Mary. Maybe he didn't need a best friend anymore.

Sherlock's face fell once more, he rested his chin on the tops of his knees and removed his glasses. John hadn't forgotten him, he still cared about him but he'd moved on. John was happy now, not sad like before. Who was Sherlock to ruin that happiness? Yes John didn't hate him, but he would one day. He would be positively livid the day Sherlock revealed he was alive. They all would. The detective was sure of it. Maybe he shouldn't reveal himself. Maybe, since everyone else was moving on, so should he. He could get a new flat, start solving crimes and mysteries for Mycroft perhaps. He wouldn't be happy about it but he couldn't deduce his old friends reactions. And that scared him.

John might not even want to be his friend if he came back. The horrible thought suddenly striking the increasingly miserable detective, who was coming down from the high of seeing his best friend after so many, many months. John would be angry and upset but that wasn't what worried Sherlock. It was the fact that he had changed and that John may not be able to handle this. He might hate the new Sherlock. No, that was foolish, John didn't really hate that easily. But John had changed too.

* * *

Mycroft could hear the sound of a car approaching and gestured for the others to stop decorating and sit back down as if nothing had changed. The three waited silently for Sherlock's reaction. The door gently opened, revealing the shivering figure behind. The detective's quick eyes scanned the room, his eyebrows raising ever so slightly at the sight of the Christmas decorations. Molly seemed barely able to contain her smile, or herself.

"Do you like it?"

"...It's...it's...interesting. Thank you" The comment and lack of reaction seemed to put a damper on everyone else's mood. Sherlock moved towards his bed and kicked off his shoes, falling onto the bed face first. Mycroft sighed and ushered the two protesting women out of the room. Taking a deep breath in preparation for everything that might follow, he crept towards his brother, armed with a blanket, which he placed over the still shivering detective.

"Sherlock?"

"Mmmph"

"Yes, very eloquent. Are you alright?"

Sherlock turned his head toward's Mycroft. "What do you think?" Rude..that was a start. But was it Sherlock rude or simply his emotions running rapid after seeing his best friend after almost a year? "I don't know, that's why I'm asking" He sat on the edge of the bed, close to Sherlock, who promptly turned his head the other way. "Sherlock...". A sob slipped out of his brother's throat, his body turning on it's side to curl inwards. "I saw him Mycroft.. I saw him. He was...happy. He's in love. He wasn't supposed to fall in love. Things weren't supposed to change that much. But they have and he has and I have most of all."

Mycroft placed his hand on Sherlock's shoulder. "Calm down. Why don't you tell me how things went?" At first Sherlock wanted no desire to, but as if was only because of Mycroft that he'd been allowed to see him, he relented. "It was great. I saw him, he smiled at me, I smiled at him, I.. I couldn't help myself. It's been almost twelve months since I saw John. I couldn't believe we were really face to face" Mycroft's hand began to rub his shoulder in a comforting gesture. "What did he have to say?"

"Oh, just hello, how are you, thanks for coming. I got to spend some time alone without.. _Mary_. I found it hard to stay in character. It was a good thing it was dark. He might have recognised me."

"She's a nice girl you know" Jealous much?

"I don't have to like her.." She took John away. Sure he was being childish, but who cared?

Mycroft allowed himself a small smile.

"Were you happy to see him again?"

"..Of course!..I missed him, I still miss him and he misses me. He doesn't hate me! John hasn't forgotten me!"

"Of course he hasn't, I told you the very idea was preposterous."

"Yes but... you aren't John...I needed to hear it from his lips."

"Does that mean you will stop worrying about it now?" Please say yes.

"Probably not." Mycroft hmmed, sighed and looked at his watch. "How do you feel?"

"Happy, sad, excited, jittery, anxious, confused..can a person really feel all those things at once? I'm surprised I haven't exploded!"

"Yes well some of us don't have the emotional range of a teaspoon."

"A tea..what?" Mycroft's lips curled and was very pleased to see Sherlock's curl also. His brother may still remained changed but so long as he was happy now and then, that would do Mycroft. At least for the moment. The sarcasm and wit they could work on later.

"How long do you intend to sulk by the way? I ask only because tea is almost ready."

"For five more minutes."

"Hmm, do apologise to the girls, they put so much work into decorating the place"

"I know it was your idea Mycroft, though I'm not sure why. You..god you blame yourself don't you..?" Sherlock sat upright suddenly as the thought came to him, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders protectively, Mycroft's silence proved him right. "You blame yourself, but for what? I thought you knew I forgave you.."

"You are changed, dear brother and not for the better. This is my fault and I accept it. So I intend to do everything I can to make things right.."

"It wasn't your fault..Mycroft, really I'm..I'm fine"

"You are not. You have lost yourself and you know this"

"..." Mycroft was right, hadn't he just been worrying about this? But still, it wasn't Mycroft's fault..was he really that dense?

"Maybe I have but I don't blame you, but thank you, for trying to cheer me up." And I think thats enough emotional situations for one day, thought Sherlock as he stood, leaving the room, the blanket still wrapped around him. Mycroft disagreed but followed his brother out of the room, they were both starving.

"Your hair is ridiculous"


	66. 66

Suit shopping with John proved to be more enjoyable then Lestrade had previously anticipated. First they'd gone out for drinks and then, while slightly inebriated, they had made their way to several shops in search of decent suits for Lestarde's wedding. John liked to pick the weirdest suits first, the very weird ones. Lestrade couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed so much.

"No not that one!"

"What's wrong with it?"

"Mate.. it's pink!"

John's face split into a mischievous grin and he tossed that suit aside, in favour of a periwinkle blue one, with very large lapels.. Lestrade wasn't sure which one of the two was more hideous. He was really enjoying this, spending time with John. They'd become such close friend's since Sherlock's death. Each trying to fill up that empty feeling inside, each not wanting to replace Sherlock. Lestrade viewed Sherlock in a paternal way, where as he viewed John more like a brother, even though John was closer to Sherlock's age. The big difference lying in the fact the Lestrade had met the rather young Sherlock Holmes first and Sherlock, well, he had been a big overgrown child anyway.

His lips twitched at the sudden thought of Sherlock turning up to his wedding. Bloody hell, would the kid have even known how to act at a wedding? God, he would probably end up objecting to the marriage on some idiotic grounds and get himself thrown out of the chapel. "Something funny?" Right, John was here...really how much did he drink? "Just thinking John, about what would have happened, had Sherlock been alive, and we were doing this". John's smile fell and then returned with vigour. "God, can you imagine him at a wedding? That's...that's scary to think about." Lestrade chuckled, John soon joining in.

John was hardly surprised to see Sherlock still butting into their conversations almost twelve months on. He didn't really like to be ignore or forgotten, John supposed. "Now, this is a nice one" Lestrade held up a nice, black tuxedo, John nodded, making a face. "Not bad mate, not bad" Lestrade pretended to be offended. "It's not supposed to be bad!" This earned him another laugh from John, who was now searching for a matching suit for himself. He found one a few rows down and they both headed towards the change rooms, arguing over whose suit was nicer and more important, cheaper.

Because Lestrade was not made of money.

* * *

They went out for another drink after all that. After about an hour talking sports, cases, the wedding and women, the topic soon turned to Sherlock, as it often did. "Reading your last book mate, so thats what the two of you were up to before I came! You never told me anything!" He laughed. It was ok to laugh now, but back then, in the Hollow, he'd been scared out of his wits. John grinned. "Yeah breaking into high security military bases was our idea of fun"

"Dangerous though."

"Oh of course, thats why it was fun"

Another laugh.

"Do you still visit his grave? Sorry, if thats a subject you don't want to talk about. I'm over due a little, should probably visit soon, tell him about the fiance and baby.."

"Yeah, occasionally. Not as much as I used to, which makes me feel bad but, I don't really know what to say anymore, you know? Apart from day to day happenings, what else is there to tell? Is it even healthy for me to be going out in the cold, to talk to a stone, to talk to someone who can't even hear me?" John's voice seemed to break a little, his emotions being eased along with the help of alcohol.

"It helps, I think. At least it does for me, a little. I like to think he can hear me. I mean, I don't know if I believe in ghosts, but I like to think he's still out there, somewhere, watching over us. Would be a bloody annoying ghost if he was" John smiled a little. "Yeah, I imagine he would go haunting Donovan and Anderson, move things around in Baker Street, bother you when you're at work" Lestrade laughed. "He would do that, friendly ghost my arse"

"But I know what you mean, I just find it harder and harder to talk to him. What makes things worse is sometimes I'll wake up and wonder, what if he's not dead, what if he faked it? But then I remember the blood and god, those fucking eyes...It's just, I still see things that remind me of him. Whenever I see someone tall with high cheekbones or black curls or a long coat. It's like this kid I met the other day, at my Book Launch, he reminded me of Sherlock, even though he was the complete opposite in terms of personality and even looks. There was just something, very Sherlock about him that I can't get out of my head."

"Oh John, shit, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought this up.." Damn it Lestrade, look what you did!

"No, it's ok, but thats why I feel I have to distance myself from him, it hurts to much whenever I have that fleeting sense of hope and then feel it torn away from me when I realise he's gone. I just, I want to forget him, I don't want to forget him, I want to remember him but, I don't want to feel that sense of loss inside when I do. Do you understand?"

"Yeah mate, I do, I do...you know maybe we should talk about something funny, so we don't under up crying into our pints" This drew out another small smile from John and the topic changed to comedy movies.

* * *

"Listen mate, thanks for the pints and the shopping and then more pints. It was fun." John grinned, swaying slightly as he made his way back to the cab after saying goodnight to Lestrade. "Oh before I forget, I have a wedding invite for Mrs Hudson, I was going to mail it, but, you aren't going to visit her soon by any chance are you?" He wasn't, he couldn't bring himself to return to that flat, but perhaps it was time.

"Sure, I'll give it to her."

"Thanks mate"

"No worries. Catch you later!" John rested his back against the leather of the seats and held the invite in his hands. Tomorrow he'd go to Baker Street and visit Mrs Hudson, he'd bring Mary along, she got on well with his old landlady and perhaps he could visit his old flat and show Mary around. Maybe it would help a little. Maybe he could let things go.

* * *

Sherlock, since the reunion, had taken up residense once more, on the window seat. He'd sit there for most of the day, in his pyjamas, staring outside. Mycroft had initially worried that he'd had a replase, but so far his worries seemed unfounded, at least for now, time would soon tell him if he was in error. He prayed that he wasn't. Maybe it was the revlation that seeing John again, except perhaps in diguise, was unlikely. Perhaps it was the new nightmares he knew his brother was having.

Before it had been mostly of torture, now he would hear John's name harshly whispered and knew his brother was dreaming about his old friend and they weren't pleasant dreams. He hated dreams, he hadn't always, but since Sherlock's "death", his return, his disappearance and his second return, Mycroft had detested them. Mycroft liked being in control and in dreams, his control was taken away from him. He too dreamed of torture, but not of his own. But the dreams he hated the most were Sherlock's.

Because in the dream world he couldn't help his brother. Because Mycroft now knew what his brother had gone through, he knew the pain he had suffered, he knew of the agony and the terror that had in the end, driven him inwards. To a place Mycroft couldn't reach. Sherlock never blamed Mycroft and he knew it was not really his fault. But he also knew that despite his best efforts, Sherlock's recovery was still unbearably slow. And the dreams didn't help things. They only hindered his recovery.

He had hoped his brother's minor reunion with the doctor would result in a happier, sarcastic Sherlock. Sherlock did seem slightly happy at times, but for the most part he had gone back to the lonely little boy who liked to watch the stars.


	67. 67

"Hey kid, here we are again. Sorry it's been so long. I haven't forgotten you, god with you invading my dreams and my memories all the time, how could I? I thought perhaps I was overdue for a visit though, so here I am!" Lestrade ran a hand over his mouth and took a step back, his eyes trailing the gold letters that he dearly wished did not grace the marble headstone.

"Things have changed, since you've been gone, well they were bound to anyway. I'm getting married Sherlock, next month actually. Sent out an invite to your brother yesterday. I've known her for awhile, I don't know if it was something you ever 'deduced', you never mentioned anything so perhaps not. She's beautiful, funny and just so lovable. She's also quite pregnant. Yeah, that's right kiddo, yours truly is going to become a father"

"I'm pretty sure you can remember me moaning on and on about wanting kids of my own. Now I'm finally getting that chance. It's going to be a boy. Rupert Sherlock Lestrade. You don't mind do you? Because if it hadn't been for you, I would never have received this miracle. Thank you Sherlock. You know...I realise now that you're gone, that I always viewed you a bit like a son. It's daft I know, but then I'm daft. You were, you were like my kid and I never knew, Sherlock. Goddamn it...why did you have to die for me to notice thats how I felt? God." He wiped away a stray tear. Keep it together Greg.

"I'll have to bring Rupert over to meet you one day, once he's born. I'll read him your adventures too, thanks to John I now have all the books, plus the adventures from long before you met John. That would be nice, my two boys. Did I tell you about John? Going to be my Best Man and the godfather, I haven't told him the last part yet. Anna's idea. Brilliant I think. He was wonderful with Mary's niece and nephew, he can be Uncle John to my Rupert. You can be Uncle Sherlock. Do you mind? Probably, tough kid, but my decision is final."

"I know John hasn't been here as often as he used too. I want you to know it's not because he doesn't care anymore, he's just too busy and it hurts too much. He cares too much, Sherlock. And frankly he doesn't need that pain in his life. He's had too much of it. I'm so glad he has Mary, I worry what would have happened if he hadn't met her."

"I better go, Anna has an ultrasound in an hour. Nice to talk to you again son."

* * *

"Are you sure about this John?"

"Why wouldn't I be? It's been twelve months, I can handle this."

"Only if you're sure"

"Of course I'm sure"

To prove it he rang Mrs Hudson's bell and waited. John could hear a faint voice calling and then footsteps. The door open to reveal the smiling face of Martha Hudson. "John! Look at you, my dear boy, I haven't seen you in ages! Come here!" Her arms opened wide and John moved forward to wrap his arms around her. She hugged him tightly, like a mother hugging a son. She then pulled away and looked into his face, searching and then smiled.

"You look very well"

"Thank you, so do you. Oh, do you remember Mary?"

"Of course, Mary dear how are you?" She leaned over to hug Mary as well. "Well to what do I owe this lovely surprise?" Oh, yes, that reminded him. John pulled out the elegant white envelope and handed it to Mrs Hudson. "Lestrade would love you to come to his wedding."

"Oh how wonderful! That dear man. How is he?"

"Great actually, he's going to be a dad"

"Oh thats marvellous! Do you want to come inside, or to the cafe?"

John looked over at Mary, she nodded. "Do you mind if I give Mary a little tour of 221b? That is if you don't have any new tenants?" Mrs Hudson gave him a small smile. "It's still empty, Mycroft still pay's his brother's half, the poor dear, I suppose he feels obligated, I've tried to get him to stop but he's very stubborn, just like his brother. Go right on ahead, it will give me time to put the kettle on" Smiling, John took Mary's small hand in his own and headed towards the staircase.

* * *

"It's not as messy as I thought" Was Mary's first remark. It was a remarkably neat room. "I cleaned it up a lot, threw out a ton of junk.. that I'm sure...was quite valuable." He gave her a crooked grin.

"Those are the chairs?"

"Yeah, the black one was his, though he could never sit in it properly. Thats the couch back there where he used to sulk, and that, is the smiley face I told you about"

"Wow.. you weren't kidding, he actually shot it"

"Yep. I'm surprised the police weren't called. But they probably thought, oh it's just 221b, these things happen." Mary laughed. It still looked lived in, John noted sadly as he took her around the flat, pointing things out and telling her outrageous but entirely true stories. She laughed till she cried and when the tour did end, she noticed a few tears in John's own eyes.

"Was it too much?"

"No.. it's not that."

"Then what is it?"

"..It used to scream his name but now.. it's just empty. He's gone Mary. He doesn't live here anymore. His memory seems purged of this place. Maybe it's just me, maybe it's just how I feel. Is that bad, do you think?" She wrapped her arms around him and directed him to the door out.

"No, thats because he's just moved on, he lives in you now, silly."

"You always know the right things to say"

"Well, I know you don't just keep me around for my pretty face"

* * *

Operation Cheer Up Sherlock Holmes hadn't quite gone to plan, Irene mused as she watched the detective sitting on his windowsill, his face sad. It always pained her to see him look so lost like that. It wasn't her Sherlock but then, she hadn't seen her Sherlock in a long, long time. Perhaps he no longer existed and wasn't that a depressing thought?

They'd tried playing games, board games didn't work. Mainly because Monopoly was no fun to play when Mycroft won everytime, and Trivial Pursuit wasn't fun either, unless they played in teams and Sherlock and Mycroft were not in a team together. Cards was ok sometimes, until the invention of the Government Official and then Mycroft no longer wanted to play. It was similar to Old Maid, but using a photo of Mycroft stuck to the front of one of the cards. Irene had only started it to make Sherlock smile, but it hadn't worked. Sherlock didn't poke fun at his brother anymore and Irene was sure that Mycroft missed it. Speaking of which, where was he?

"Getting the mail, Miss Adler"

"How did you know what I was think-...oh never mind. Anything interesting?"

Mycroft waved a white envelope. "Wedding invitation from Lestrade, Miss Hooper has one as well." Molly's eyes lit up and eagerly took the envelope from Mycroft. Sherlock barely paid attention. "When is he getting married?" Inquired Irene, slightly miffed that she was not invited and decided to start braiding Molly's hair.

"Next month, he told me he didn't want a funeral and a wedding in the same year. Understandable, even if the coffin was empty." Again no response from Sherlock. "He hasn't had a relapse has he?" Irene whispered across the coffee table. Mycroft shook his head. "Not too my knowledge, one can only hope he has not but sometimes I worry.."

"He has to get better, I miss the old Sherlock" Molly sighed, wincing as Irene pulled on a braid too hard. "Sorry" lied the other woman and continued on her mission. "Please don't make me look like an idiot Reanie, last time you did my hair I looked like a clown"

"My mistake, but I thought it suited you nicely"

"I'm sure Miss Adler will do fine, after all, she knows you are working this evening, doesn't she?" Irene rolled her eyes. "I could do your hair if you like, Mycroft" His eyes flashed dangerously.

"No thank you" He stood and left to fetch himself a new cup of tea.

Irene was sure she saw the ghost of a smile flit across Sherlock's face.


	68. 68

"Here"

Something was thrust into Sherlock's face, a set of files. The detective looked up with a blank look.

"What are these?"

"Read"

"But what-"

"Read them and then I will tell you"

They were his alias files. They'd come up with more than a dozen different personas for him but only half had ever been used. He read through them and then placed the files beside him. "Why did you give me these?" Mycroft smiled and picked up the discarded papers. "You wish to help? Pick two aliases and you may use them to go undercover for a little while." Sherlock's eyes lit up briefly. He could go out again? Maybe he could go see John..

"Absolutely not"

"What?"

"If you agree to do this you can't just use this opportunity to spy on John. You have to commit to the missions handed to you, do you understand?" Sherlock sighed and nodded. Anything to get out of here. "Then which two aliases have you chosen?" Sherlock pointed to two of the files and went back to watching the clouds go by. Mycroft looked at what he'd chosen and nodded approving. "Very well. I will discuss this with my people and then perhaps we can come up with a look for both. Miss Adler and Miss Hooper will no doubt want to help again in that department." Oh joy.

"Where are they?"

"Out for dinner, apparently Miss Adler offended one of my chefs and now he refuses to cook anything for her." Sherlock's lips twitched. "By the way Sherlock, there was something I wanted your advice on"

"My advice? You want my advice on something?"

"Yes. Since i have been invited to this wedding, I suppose I will need to buy the happy couple a wedding present. Any ideas?" Me? How would I know what you buy someone for a wedding. Unless.. "Perhaps..a holiday? I can't think of anything else and I have never met his fiance.." Mycroft considered the idea for a minute and then nodded. "I like it, somewhere warm perhaps, as it's rather cold now. Hawaii? Australia? These are ideas I need to consider. Thank you Sherlock." His brother shrugged and went back to looking at the clouds, waiting for the stars to come out again.

* * *

"Hey mate, been awhile and I'm very sorry about that. I just..I just didn't know what to say anymore. You're dead. You're dead Sherlock. What would my life even mean to you? You dead, you've...bought the farm, you've kicked the bucket, you've climbed the golden staircase, crossed the River Styx, you got your halo, you are no more, you have ceased to be, bereft of life, you rest in peace, you've met your maker, good riddance, you free-loading b-bastard." John gave a hollow laugh, his voice cracking and he let out a broken sob.

"I accept it now. I know I have. I thought I had already but I was wrong. W-we, we went to the flat, myself and Mary..first time in ages. You weren't there Sherlock. I used to feel your presence in every room, in every piece of furniture. But not anymore. Your ghost left the flat, it's just empty now. Thats how I know I must have accepted it. Does that mean you've left us, left me? Completely? I thought perhaps, for awhile, you were with me, especially when I was writing the books." John wiped his eyes with his sleeve and chuckled sadly. "I used to imagine you were right by my side when I was writing. Correcting me, telling me off for including something, saying I was concentrating on the deductions as much as I should. Which, by the way, I did this time. I thought perhaps you were with me when I wrote about your death. Because I felt, comforted. Maybe it was just my imagination. You weren't like that, you wouldn't stick around, just for me. Would you?"

"Lestrade's going to be a dad and is getting married. I'm going to be Best Man! Bloody happy. I get to organise the stag too. Should be fun."

"See! This is why I haven't come so often, I don't know what to say anymore! I've finished all the books, I've visited the flat and Mrs Hudson. Your brother's told me stories about your childhood. What else is there to say anymore? How much I miss you? That will probably never change. How life is not that same without you? How about the fact that you still make people cry. Mrs Hudson still misses you, she's so lonely in the flat now. And Lestrade, he really misses you too. I don't know... I just don't know what I have left to say"

"Christmas is coming..in a few weeks. We'll be having another party this year, and then me and Mary will be heading down to meet her family for Christmas dinner. Should be nice, I'll get to see the twins again. I miss them."

"I will try and see you again. Especially next month. God it will have been a year. Lestrade's wedding is before the anniversary though. Which is handy.."

"Pretty soon, I might like a wedding of my own and then one day..kids. Would that bother you? Probably. But you aren't here to stop me. I don't want you to stop me. I love her. She brought back the happiness that I'd lost and she filled the hole your absence left. Not that it means she replaced you, she didn't. No one can. No one has that right. She's just different. And thats ok. Thats ok."

"I better go..it looks like it might rain and it's bloody cold out here. Tell you what, I'll come by at Christmas before we go. Leave you a wreath or a present or something. Aright? Alright. Goodbye Sherlock."

* * *

"Jim?"

"Jim?"

"Come on Jim, this isn't funny. Where the hell are you?" Sebastian sighed and placed a large box onto the kitchen countertop and looked around the penthouse for his boss. There was a note taped to one of the doors.

_Out to buy decorations for the flat. Make dinner, something spicy._

_xxx Jim :)_

Great, just great. Like hell he was making dinner. Ordering pizza was far more likely. Sebastian took out his phone and flipped it open, phoning the local pizzaeria. Jim wanted spicy, he'll order the spicest pizza imaginable.

The consulting crimminal didn't return till much later in the evening. A group of his men followed behind him with several boxes and then left without saying a word. Jim's nostrils sniffed the air and he licked his lips, heading straight to one of the pizza boxes and lifting up a slice, letting the melted cheese slide down his chin. He sighed in ecstasy. Delicious.

"What's in the boxes? Can you tell me once you've decided to stop making love to that slice?"

"Christmas decorations"

"Right. You don't do Christmas"

"Sure I do. I love christmas! Which reminds me, I need to send Mycroft a Christmas gift, Sherlock too! Though I'm not sure if he's in any condition to open one..do you think you could send someone to try and find out for me?"

"Probably...why send them presents?"

"For fun! You have no sense of fun Sebby"

"Whatever, as long as you don't endanger our missions here, I don't care what you do"

"Good, then you won't mind helping me put up the decorations"

"God no"


	69. 69

The code names for the two new personas Sherlock would soon go undercover as, were Siggy, a homeless man, and The Angel, a street performer slash magician. Molly and Irene had eagerly jumped on the second alias, creating a look for him almost immediately. Molly insisted he wear the blue hoodie with the wings that she'd brought for him. His hair, now back to it's original colour, was again cut short, so much so that the curls were no longer present. Sherlock was also advised not to shave for a few days so that he had some stubble.

He was to go undercover in several places and observe three different individuals. Mycroft believed them to be members of Moriarty's empire, working in London. One such place was the NSY, Sherlock was pleased to discover, perhaps he may catch a glimpse of Lestrade. His brother made sure that on no account was he to try and interact with anyone he used to know. This put a bit of a damper on his initial excitement at leaving this house again. But at least he was getting out and doing something. That was most important.

Which was way he was currently standing outside Tescos, juggling apples and two knives, throwing and catching and spinning the objects as they flew through the air and were caught with his own quick and clever hands. He was quite pleased with his skills, he had accumulated a great number of interesting, but perfectly useless in real life, abilities while on his travels. Juggling was one of them. Sword swallowing and fire breathing were two others.

* * *

He finished his act by dropping the apples one by one into a box and then letting one knife drop through the centre of the last apple. The crowd applauded and Sherlock bowed appreciatively, making sure the hoodie remained down so as to cover his face. Several of the audience members dropped coins and notes into an empty case and commented on the amazing performance. Sherlock acted the part of a confident but modest performer, his accent and use of language very different from his normal way of speaking

He shivered as he packed up everything and phoned his brother. The hoodie, like all hoodies, didn't provide much warmth. He dearly missed his coat. He'd lost the new one somewhere in Germany.. or was it Spain? He couldn't remember. The man he had been observing for that day was now out of sight but Sherlock had come up with several useful pieces of information, so it had not been a total loss of an evening.

The buildings and shops were covered in sparkling lights of white and green and red. Christmas trees and gaudy decorations could be seen in some of the windows. The faint sound of singing could be heard from the end of the street. Christmas was so near. Its funny, until he met John, he didn't much care for Christmas, except as a young child. He'd been to a few parties of course, but he had never really enjoyed them. John and Sherlock had a Christmas Eve party last time, Christmas being rather drab and sad that year, what with Irene being apparently dead at the time. Still, they'd had warm hot chocolate, sat in their chairs and given each other presents.

Which hadn't been easy, neither had any notion on what to buy the other. Sherlock in the end had received a subscription to a magazine he rather liked and a beautiful, old, Victorian magnifying glass. He wondered where it was now. Still at Baker Street perhaps. To John he had given the complete set of Monty Python movies and an embellished card, promising to buy the milk when asked and any other groceries for six weeks. Mrs Hudson had helped him with the gift ideas. John was a hard person to buy things for.

And it was Mrs Hudson who had kindly made them a Christmas dinner. Sherlock remembered getting slightly tipsy of the cheap wine and passing out in his chair. He woke up in his bed. Still, it had been a more enjoyable holiday then he was used to. How would John be celebrating his Christmas this year, without him? Would he have another party? Would they talk about him? Remember him? Or would he go and visit family with Mary?

A horn honked lately, breaking his train of thought. His ride was here, disguised as a cab once again. He climbed inside, Anthea was sitting there waiting, as per usual, tapping away at her phone. Someone ought to confiscate that thing really. How did she ever do any work when she was constantly playing games on it? He wrapped his arms around himself and said nothing as they drove home.

* * *

It's a cold, wet and dreary day, mused the Inspector as he left his car and headed up the driveway towards the large NSY building. And it was because it was such a dull, cold day, that he was surprised to hear cheering coming from the other side of the street. A crowd had gathered. Curious, Lestrade pulled his collar up against the wind and placed his hands in his pockets, heading over to investigate.

They were all crowded around a street performer. Nothing unusual about that, though in this weather it was rather strange. The performer was tall and very skinny, wearing a deep blue hoodie with a pair of angels wings printed on the back, Greg was unable to see his face but he looked reasonably young. He was also breathing fire. The crowd would scream in delight as a plume of flames spurted from his mouth. Perhaps that was why, it was so cold but he was breathing out fire, they all gathered around him to watch and get warm off the heat it produced.

The warmth from it almost made him want to get closer, but he had paperwork, cases and so many other boring things that needed to be done today. And yet..for some reason, as he watched this kid, he felt a smile appear on his lips. The Inspector chuckled as he watched another plume of fire exploding into the air, the crowed clapping and cheering. The performer bowed and glanced at Lestrade for just the tiniest of seconds, before picking up some juggling equipment and starting on a new act.

Laughing and smiling for reasons he didn't understand or care, Greg turned around and walked back to work. This kid had brightened his day and so he allowed himself to whistle Christmas carols as he trudged all the way back to Scotland Yard.


	70. 70

The Christmas Eve party this year was to be held at John and Mary's flat and the two of them had been preparing for it the entire week. They'd brought, and made, food, prepared drinks and background music. They'd even decorated the entire flat with lavish christmas decorations, including a big, full tree in the living room, with presents already littered beneath it, it's lights twinkling like starlight. Mary was wearing a beautiful red dress and John was wearing a blue snow-flaked patterned jumper.

The guests soon began to arrive. Not many people though. Lestrade and Anna were the first. They brought presents, chocolate and some wine. John and Mary greeted them warmly and sat them down in the living room. Next was Mrs Hudson, presents in her hands as well as a delicious looking Christmas pudding. Harry and Clara were next, Harry shy for once but acting confident, with Clara at her side. They sat opposite Lestrade and his fiance. Before any introductions could be made there was a knock at the door. The last guest had arrived. Molly Hooper.

Who was very, very nervous as she made her way towards the front door. It wasn't fair for her to be here and not him. She smoothed down her black dress and knocked lightly. John opened the door, a grin spreading across his face. He hadn't seen her in ages and was very pleased to see she was well. "Molly! How are you? You look great!" He gestured for her to enter and pulled her into a hug.

"I'm good, thank you. And you? Oh and Mary?"

She sat down next to a pair of women she didn't know, placing her packages with the others, on a coffee table. "We're great, we're great. Oh! Um this is Harry and this is Clara" He waved a hand at the other two occupants on the couch. Harry was John's height, with very red hair, she had a friendly face and a lot of freckles. Clara had shoulder length brown hair and was very, very pretty. Molly pushed back a curl, placing it behind her ear and shook their hands.

"It's so nice to meet you. Um.. I'm Molly, Molly Hooper. You must be John's sister?" Harry grinned and nodded. Molly had been expecting a booze hound but Harry looked like a normal, healthy woman, with a lot of energy. "That's me sunshine! I don't know why it's taken me so long to meet you all but well, here I am now!" Molly gave her a shy smile and thanked Greg as he placed a glass of wine in her hands.

"Haven't seen you in a while, everything ok?"

"Yes, yes everything's fine. Really. Thanks though"

Greg smiled and patted her hand and went back to sit with Anna. Molly watched as the rest of the group interacted, she wasn't sure what to do or what to say. They all thought Sherlock was dead, she was the only one who knew the truth. And she desperately wanted to tell them. But she could not. So she sat by herself, occasionally laughing or smiley, but feeling like a liar, a horrible person. She could only think of the lonely detective back home, missing his friends.

* * *

The party proved to be a great success. The food was delicious, the drinks; plentiful. Everyone exchanged presents and then soon, as John always believed it would happen, their conversations soon turned to the only person missing from their party. Sherlock.

"Do you remember last Christmas, John, when I made him wear the antlers that morning" Mrs Hudson smiled as she remembered the detectives exasperated expression when she'd placed them on his head. John laughed, the memory coming easily.

"He hated them"

"I think they suited him!"

"Wait.. wait, I missed that, did that happen before I arrived?"

Mrs Hudson and John both nodded, John suddenly grinning mischeviously and placing his glass down. He headed towards the bookcase and removed his leather photo album, opening it several pages in and turning it towards Lestrade. There, on the second page, was a picture of a scowling, antler wearing, detective. The antlers large and red, were nestled amongst his dark curls. Lestrade felt himself grinning and then laughing out-load. "He let you take a picture?"

"Well.. not let me, I did it anyway. He knew he was supposed to be nice to me at Christmas, I never asked much of him." Lestrade cleared his throat and handed the album back to John, who in turn showed it to Harry, who had never had a chance to meet Sherlock while he was still alive. She grinned at the photo and smiled at John. She knew he missed his friend terribly, but had no idea what to say, perhaps it was too late to say anything now.

The evening continued with other such amusing and happy memories. Molly never contributed, she still didn't have any idea on what to say. She worried she'd slip up and reveal the truth. She worried that she wanted to reveal the truth. Worse still, they spoke of a Sherlock that no longer existed, he certainly was not the same person that was currently moping in his bedroom, back at the Holmes' household.

"I miss him so much" John felt himself saying.

"Me too, bloody idiot"

"The dear boy.." Mrs Hudson let out a sob, John wrapped an arm around her and Molly felt even more uncomfortable than before. John made a decision. "I was going to wait till morning but apparently we have to leave early. Um, I'm taking a Christmas wreath down to his grave, you're all welcome to come, you don't have to but, yeah, just letting you know." John stood, putting down his empty glass and leaving the room, coming back with a traditional Christmas wreath, a wide red ribbon across the middle, embroidered with the words, 'Happy Christmas Sherlock Holmes'.

* * *

John laid the wreath upon the snow, in front of the cold, black stone and then stood back with the others. They stood quietly together, an awkward silence filling the air for several minutes before Mary decided to speak up. "Happy Christmas dear, we all miss you very much and we hope you are happy..wherever you are". John linked his arm through Mary's. Lestrade cleared his throat again. "Miss you kid, especially at Christmas. Miss your sarcasm, your teasing, your deductions. Most of all though, I just miss you. Happy Christmas kiddo"

"It's lonely in the flat darling, without you. I hope, like Mary said, that you're happy. Happy Christmas Sherlock and know, you are loved" Mrs Hudson turned and followed Lestrade and Anna back to their car to wait. John looked at Molly, who was taking a photo of the wreath. "It's not the same without you Sherlock. I miss you, very much...Happy Christmas." John nodded his approval before moving forward to rest his hand on the gravestone.

"I can't believe how many months have flown by Sherlock. I thought I'd never get over your death, but I am moving on, I've accepted it. I'll always miss you and I promise to never forget to visit you. No matter how many years pass. You were and are my best friend and I'll always believe in you. Happy Christmas Sherlock Holmes"

John turned around to leave but Molly was still there waiting, tapping on her phone. "Heading home?" She gave him a wavering smile. "Yeah, busy day Christmas.. t-that was nice, what you said. I bet he misses you too." John nodded sadly. "Have you been alright? It's just we haven't seen you, I've been worried."

"Oh. Sorry, John."

"That's it? Come on Molly, I'm not stupid, you've been skittish all night. What's wrong?" She shook her head. "I can't tell you, I wish I could but I can't" A tear slipped past her cheek. The truth was slipping out. Pull yourself together Molly Hooper! "What do you mean? Are you being threatened? Molly, let me help. Tell me what's the matter!" So she made a decision, he knew she was hiding something, she couldn't deny that, but she couldn't tell him the truth that she knew he wanted to hear, so she would substitute it with one he ought to know.

"I..I've been working for Mycroft"

Ok, that was a bit of a lie. "What? Were you ever planning to tell me this?" John looked angry, he hated people keeping secrets from him. "He trusted me, after everything that happened with Sherlock and well, he n-needed a mortician. His men have been going after Moriarty's empire, tearing it down. Now and then bodies needed to be identified by someone he trusted."

"And he chose you" She nodded, pushing forward with her half truth stubbornly. "Yes, and because of my previous dealings with him, he t-told me something..he's alive John" John felt like something was clenching his heart. Who, who was alive? Please say Sherlock, please Molly. Don't say that then break my heart. Please..

"W-who?"

"Jim"

Oh shit. Oh no, no no! This couldn't be happening! Why him? Why not Sherlock? "No, he's dead, he blew his brains out!" Molly shook her head. "There was no body and not enough blood. Mycroft showed me photos, he was concerned because Jim had been my boyfriend for a short time and because, um he'd forgotten to threaten me the last time. Mycroft had promised to look after me, because of Sherlock's last wishes. I've been staying out his place lately. Because Moriarty's empire is collapsing. He was concerned for my safety" John's face was unreadable. She wished she could tell him about Sherlock. Oh John, please say something.

"Great, thats..just great. Why does he get to live? Huh? Where's the fairness in that? Shit. Are we safe, Molly? Me and Mary? Lestrade and Anna? Mrs Hudson? What about us? Are we safe?" As far as she knew they were, so she nodded. "Yes, you're safe. I just.. I felt you had to know! You deserve to know. I'm sorry.." She turned to leave, John's hand on her arm stopped her.

"No, don't apologise. Thank you. Happy Christmas Molly" John managed a smile and left with the others. Oh John, you thank me now, but soon you will hate me. I've lied to you, so many times. Please forgive me. A cab stopped outside the cemetery and Molly climbed in. Mycroft would be very angry with her, but she had been right John did deserve to know.

* * *

"It was stupid and irresponsible, I thought better of you , Miss Hooper" Molly hung her head for a few seconds before her fists clenched and she stared Mycroft straight in the eye. "No, it wasn't stupid, John deserves to know, they all do, but especially John. I didn't tell him about Sherlock but I wish I had! John deserve to know Sherlock lives...how much longer does he have to hide? How much longer do I have to lie?" Mycroft sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. She was right, of course.

"I did not wish for any of them to know until I was sure they were safe, now that they know, they may not be. I'll have to increase they surveillance and security. But..you are right. John should have been told about Moriarty earlier. But I felt he had enough to deal with." Molly fished out her phone and handed it to Mycroft, a pleased look on her face. Irene had been telling her to be more assertive and confident and she felt happy that she had done so.

"What's this for?"

"Um, theres some photos..of everyone and they had a christmas wreath made for his grave. Also I recorded them talking..about him. I thought, maybe you could give it too him. Consider it an early christmas present. Goodnight Mycroft.."

"Goodnight Miss Hooper" You certainly have given me a lot to think about.

* * *

Mycroft tip toed back into Sherlock's room, his brother sitting on the window seat as always. His knees drawn up, his face captivated by the stars, as they were every night. He didn't acknowledge his brother's presence until Mycroft drew closer. "You need to sleep now, it's getting late."

"Not tired Myc"

"I know, but tommorow is Christmas and the girls are rather excited. Best to get some rest."

"We don't do Christmas"

"I know, but I thought it best to humour them" And I thought it might cheer you up. "I'm going to take a shower, go to bed Sherlock." He pressed Molly's phone into his hands. "She's given you an early Christmas present, remember to thank her in the morning" Mycroft gathered up his pyjamas and dressing gown from the couch that was so often his bed and headed towards the en-suite bathroom. Curious, Sherlock opened the phone. There were several new photos, all dated today.

Here was one of John smiling broadly, another of him and Lestrade laughing about something. Here was Mrs Hudson handing out bowls of Christmas pudding. There were a few more photos of John talking, Lestrade grinning and Mrs Hudson laughing. The final photograph was of his gravestone, a large wreath was placed in front of it. The words 'Happy Christmas Sherlock Holmes' written across a large red ribbon. Sherlock swallowed. They were thinking of him, even at Christmas.

There were also a few audio files. All of his friends talking about him and then talking at his grave, telling them how much he was loved and missed. He finished listening, repeating John's over and over and then placing the phone against his chest. Thank you Molly. He walked to his bed and laid his head down on the soft pillow.

When Mycroft came out of the bathroom, his brother was curled up in bed, the phone still held tightly against his chest, a small smile on his lips. Thank you Molly Hooper. He pulled the covers over his younger sibling and stretched himself out on the couch.

* * *

"John?" Mary looked at him concerned as he waved goodbye to their friends. "What's wrong John?" He shooked his head, placing a kiss on her cheek. "Nothing, everything is ok." He smiled and took her hand in his and gently pulled her towards their bedroom. "We'll clean up tommorow, lets get some sleep." She gave him a dubious look but followed. "I know you are lying and you are going to tell me the truth, John Watson."

"Mary, trust me, let's not spoil this night. Or tommorow. I promise to tell you soon. Just, come to bed"

"You better, soldier boy" He grinned and hugged her tightly, picking her up. She protested and giggled as he lifted her off her feet and wrapped her arms around his neck. "I promise Mary. Happy Christmas"

"Happy Christmas John"


	71. 71

Sherlock was awoken, late Christmas morning, by the sounds of laughter and gossiping, coming from the end of his bed. He lifted up his head, opening one bleary eye to see three people sitting in the small living room area of his room. All in their pyjamas and dressing gowns. Molly and Irene were nestled together under a large woollen blanket. Mycroft sat opposite, sipping tea and possibly reading the paper.

"Oh, sleepy head is up!"

Exclaimed one Irene Adler, who decided to brave the moderately warm room and rush over towards Sherlock's bed. The fireplace had been relit, but judging by the temperature of the room only recently. Irene sat on the edge of Sherlock's bed and poked him in the side. "Up you get, sleepy head!". Sherlock responded by sighing and pulling the covers over his head. Like hell, he was getting up. But Irene could be just as stubborn as Sherlock Holmes.

She pulled the covers all the way back and smirked, holding them tightly. Sherlock pulled the pillow over his head instead. So Irene wrestled that out of his grip too. "Leave me alone" He moaned, hiding his head in his folded arms. "No. It's Christmas, time to get up." She grinned and threw his dressing gown over his head and hurried back to the warmth of Molly Hooper and the pink, woollen blanket.

Sherlock groaned, pulling the dressing gown further across his head. "Help me" He murmured at his brother. Mycroft simply sipped his tea and declined. "I'm afraid I can't do that. They woke me up also. Best to hop out of bed and get things over with dear brother" Another groan and Sherlock pulled himself into a sitting position. He had a mind to continue whining or moaning but decided against it. He slipped on the dressing gown and stumbled towards one of the couches, sitting himself down next to Mycroft. Sherlock brought up his knees and wrapped his dressing gown tightly around them.

"The coffee on the table is yours"

Mycfroft barely looked up, turning the pages of the newspaper with boredom written all over his face. Sherlock nodded, picking up the warm beverage and almost sighing in pleasure as he took the first sip. He noted that Irene and Molly seemed to be bursting with some sort of secret. Oh, right, Christmas. That was most likely the reason for their expressions. Sherlock hadn't even bothered to buy presents, he hadn't been expecting them, or himself, to do anything for the holiday. Mycroft had probably taken care of things, if he suspected the other two were buying gifts. Just as well, Sherlock had no idea what to do in that department.

Irene looked at Mycroft silently asking him a question. He nodded shortly and put down his paper. Grinning, Molly hopped out of the warm confines of the blanket and headed towards the tree, she picked up a large box, not wrapped, but with a bow on top, and handed it to the confused detective.

"Happy Christmas" They chorused, a secretive grin was shared between both women.

"What is this?"

"It's a Christmas present silly" Molly laughed. "Open it". A present huh? For me? Why would they do such a thing? And why did the box seem to be moving? He pulled off the bow and ribbon and lifted off the lid. Inside was a small black creature staring up at him, with wide, piercing blue eyes. It mewed inquisitively and attempted to escape it's prison, with amusing results. It's paws grasped the top of the box and it attempted to pull itself up, causing the box to tumble over and the creature to tumble out.

The black kitten shook itself and stumbled out of the box, still getting used to using its legs. It mewed again, as if inquiring who opened the box and rescued it. Sherlock was so astonished by the animal that he had not spoken nor acknowledged the others for several minutes. The black kitten was tiny, with bright blue eyes and a small chunk appeared to be bitten from it's ear. On closer inspection Sherlock could see a faint scar across it's cheek, now mostly hidden by fur. This little fellow must have survived a brief attack as a newborn. It was a wonder it survived.

"No one wanted him. Because of his ear and the little scar. It's really sad, you can barely see the scar now and he has so much personality and he's so adorable. Isn't he Reanie?"

"He's certainly a playful one, very cheeky. Very vocal as well"

The kitten mewed loudly as if agreeing with Irene. A boy then. "Poor thing, he was the only one left, personally I think we got the best out of the litter." Sherlock had set aside the box and watched as the kitten explored his new surroundings. He was extremely curious as he wobbled around the couch, stopping at Mycroft. The elder Holmes raised his eyebrow at the creature, who chirped a hello. Mycroft sighed and picked him up, placing him back on Sherlock's lap, who still was unsure what to say or do.

Why give him an animal? He'd always wanted a pet, but father wouldn't have animals in the house. The detective supposed the idea was to make him feel less lonely, take his mind off what had happened to him, and missing John, and put it to taking care of a helpless creature. Sherlock picked it up, studying him. Small, perhaps the runt of the litter, different, unloved, unwanted, the freak. He felt a smile tug at the corners of his lips. Yes, he would keep this kitten.

"Well?"

"What do you say Sherlock?" Oh, right.

"..Thank you" He responded quietly, the kitten chirped and poked him in the nose with his tiny paw. "What will you name him?" Molly asked gently, sharing a look with Irene, both pleased Sherlock liked their gift. That's right, he'll need a name and he had just the right one. "Milton" Mycroft snorted. Judging by the blank looks from Molly and Irene, Sherlock sighed. "John Milton? He wrote Paradise Lost."

"Oooh..right" You have no idea do you?

Molly grinned anyway and gestured to another box. "Some accessories for him. Collar, toys, litter box etc. Um, have fun toilet training him." Oh how wonderful. Milton meowed loudly once more, he disliked being ignored. He pounced at Sherlock and decided to explore the interesting smells coming from his dressing gown.

* * *

The gift giving continued. As Sherlock suspected, Mycroft had brought presents for the other two, Sherlock's behalf. For Molly there was a new flat, free from rent. She had spent so much time here that her landlord had finally had enough and informed her to make a decision, stay or leave. Mycroft had found a suitable flat, much larger and in a much more affluent part of London, actually not that far from Baker Street. Molly was of course beside herself, repeating over and over again she couldn't accept such a gift. Mycroft insisted, that her help in everything meant she did in fact deserve it.

For Irene there was a full pardon for her previous crimes and a pair of earrings, as Mycroft felt, in light of all her help, perhaps he ought to get her a proper present. Anthea had suggested earrings, and so he'd had earrings purchased for her. Irene had brought a pretty, if slightly revealing dress for Molly and Molly had purchased a set of dvd's that Irene had been raving on and on about for ages, but been too lazy to buy herself. They'd both brought Mycroft a new suit, unsure on what else to get, considering he allowed them refuge in his home, they thought they should at least buy him something.

Attention was once again pointed at Sherlock. He had rested his head on the arm of the couch, his legs drawn up and dangerous close to kicking Mycroft. Milton was exploring Sherlock's chest and face. Irene cleared her throat again. "Sherlock?"

"Hmm?" She pointed at a package in her hands. He sighed and sat back up, Milton protested and clung to Sherlock's shirt with his sharp, miniature claws. "You didn't have to get anything else. I won't be getting what I really want for Christmas anyway." Oh shit, he just said that last part out loud didn't he? The other's looked uncomfortable. Sherlock pulled off the paper with little care. Inside was a brand new Belstaff coat and a deep green striped scarf. Sherlock bit his lip and nodded a thanks. He'd missed his coat. He didn't feel himself without it.

The last gift was again for Sherlock. "I don't do gifts well, but I feel this time I have chosen wisely" Replied Mycroft as he handed over his present. Sherlock was rather surprised he had bothered at all, after all he himself had brought no gifts for anyone. Inside was an expensive and rather beautiful, black telescope and a book on stars. Sherlock let himself finally smile.

"Thank you Mycroft"

"Don't mention it" Just use it.

"I..don't have anything for you.." I'm not good at this either.

"Just get better and I'll count as even" That's all I ask.

"I'll try.." Somehow.

"Good, now, who is up for breakfast?"

* * *

Sherlock pulled on a pair of tracksuit pants and a plain blue top and fell back onto his bed. Milton gleefully exclaimed something in kitten speech and tried to climb up the bed post to join him. Sherlock reached down and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and plopped him on the bedspread. Picking up a discarded ribbon, Sherlock dangled it over the delighted creature's head.

"We're a pair, you and I. Both different, both looked upon with distain." Sherlock laid down on his stomach and rested his chin in his hands. The kitten watched him, munching happily on the ribbon. "No one wants to be our friend. Though.. I suppose I can no longer make that claim my own. Molly and Irene would certainly disagree with that conclusion. Still, I feel I am without the one friend who matters."

Milton stopped chewing and crawled back up to Sherlock's face and patted him on the nose. "Yes, I suppose you're right, I should stop feeling sorry for myself. You need to be fed don't you? And toilet trained. Don't you dare pee on this bed, pee anywhere else if you must, this is not my house."

He picked up the kitten and headed back towards the opened presents still under the tree. The others had left to go about their business, Molly and Irene were out for lunch and then Molly was going to visit her mother. They promised to return for Christmas dinner. That left Sherlock quite by himself for a few hours, which he preferred right now.

He took out the litter box and moved it to the corner of the room, filling it up. He placed two bowls beside it, filling one with water and the other with a small amount of food. As Milton happily chewed away, making pleased little sounds, Sherlock searched for the collar. It was deep blue, easily seen amongst the red wrapping paper. It matched his old blue scarf, Irene's little joke most likely. Sherlock put it around the kittens neck and patted it once on the head.

"That's you fed, perhaps I ought to feed myself. Be right back"

Sherlock opened the door, to find Mycroft waiting. "You have a package, an anonymous package Sherlock. Don't worried it's been scanned. I received one myself. I think perhaps you can deduce the sender. Report to me once you've finished with it. Best to bring the cat, I don't want him peeing or ripping apart the furniture" Sherlock had the desire to roll his eyes but as per normal nowadays, he did not.

"Fine."

"I don't like this Sherlock, I wanted him to leave you alone, but I suppose I was asking too much. Remember as soon as you are done" Mycroft turned and left for his office, a troubled look on his face.

Inside the package were two wooden boxes. One large, one small. Inside the large one was an iphone. The phone was much like his old one, complete with a cover, angel wings. Curious and finding himself becoming increasingly concerned for his own wellbeing, Sherlock opened the phone to find one new message. He clicked it and waited.

_Hello Lockie!_

_Seb provided me with some rather interesting information the other day, before I sent Mycroft his little pressie. Apparently, you've recovered, or started to. Nice try with your disguises but the CCTV footage doesn't lie. I know it's you, I don't know how, but let's face it, more fun that way isn't dear?_

_This little gift is so we can keep in touch. I don't like what you started and your brother continued, it has to stop. If you don't stop your brother and his men, I will. And I know you don't want that. Now, no telling brother dear, he'll want to know what's inside so give him the little wooden box and the letter taped to the top of the lid. Keep the phone hidden._

_I'll be watching._

_Happy Christmas!_

_xxx Jim_

Sherlock clenched the phone in his fist and a determined, dangerous look spread across his face. He was not going to play this game again. It would be pointless not to tell Mycroft about the phone, he'd probably already taken a peek at the package anyway. But Moriarty perhaps would already know that. So maybe it was the message inside that he was not to talk about. Do you really want to play this game again Jim? I do not, not with you. But if I must, then only one last time.


	72. 72

"Uncle John, Uncle John!"

Two small figures rushed towards him, knocking him to the ground. Laughing John put down his presents and picked up the twins, one with each arm and lifted them over his shoulders. They giggled and pounded his back with their small fists as he limped to the living room. He deposited them on the couch and tickled them mercilessly. Lily wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek.

"Happy Christmas Uncle John!"

"Happy Christmas to you too Lily. Have you been naughty or nice?"

"Nice!"

"James?"

"Nice. Thats why we got presents!"

'"Oh, Father Christmas did come then?"

"Of course he came, it's his job, isn't it?"

John laughed. "Yes I suppose it is" Mary pouted and pretended she was upset that she did not receive a similar greeting, so the twins hugged her around the waist and pestered her for the presents. "Not yet. Where's everyone else?" Lily shrugged while James attempted to steal one of the presents. "You're early. Mummy's getting dressed and daddy is complaining about his tie and worrying about the food" Mary grinned, that sounded like her brother alright. "Alright then, you two stay put with Uncle John and I will see if I can help with anything." John nodded and placed the presents amongst others under the tree.

"So, what did you get?"

* * *

Sherlock removed the slip of paper from the roof of the box and slipped it in his tracksuit pocket. He decided to hide the phone for now. If Mycroft mentioned it, he would go and get it. Maybe. He picked up the wooden box, it seemed to require a key, so Sherlock had no idea what was inside. Milton mewed and sneezed, propelling himself backwards. "Yes the room is a bit dusty, I agree."

Sherlock picked up the kitten, resting him against his chest as he left the room. Milton decided that he wished for a better view and started to climb up the detective's chest and up onto his shoulder. "I'm not sure if that is a safe place for someone your age and size." However, the kitten seemed happy with his chosen spot so Sherlock did not remove him.

Mycroft was in his office, staring at a pile of photographs. He gestured to the leather seat opposite, Sherlock sat down, careful not to jostle the animal resting on his shoulder. Mycroft pretended not to notice the kitten and handed Sherlock the photos. His eyes widened when he recognised the subjects of the photos. John, Mary, Lestrade and Mrs Hudson, all taken clearly by someone following them closely, this one and three others were taken in John and Mary's flat, this one in 221b Baker Street. Moriarty was showing just how close he could get without Mycroft's and Sherlock's knowledge. His fists curled, his teeth clenched.

"Moriarty has been very busy, unfortunately. Do not worry, we have upped their security. Now, what did he give you? The scan revealed little, other than two harmless seeming boxes." Sherlock took out the unopened box and placed it on Mycroft's desk, along with the note found on the lid. Mycroft picked up the box, turning it over. "This makes sense, along with the photos, there was a key." The elder Holmes unfolded the note, which simply said:

_Haha, made you look, xxx Jim._

Rolling his eyes, he turned his attention back to the box. Lifting the key, he inserted it into the lock and twisted it open. As he lifted the lid, he felt his stomach drop. Inside was the Thieving Magpie brand that matched the brand that now graced Sherlock's foot. He closed the lid, ignoring Sherlock's concerned questions and placed it in one of his drawers, shutting and locking it immediately.

"What was it? Mycroft..tell me pl-"

Sherlock's inquiry suddenly ended, causing Mycroft to look up in alarm. His brother was staring with a curious look on his face, at the kitten still on his shoulder. "Sherlock?" His brother raised a finger to his lips. "Ssh. He's making a whirring sound...it's like he's vibrating on my shoulder.."

"You mean he's purring. Then he's happy. Now what about the other box?"

"What other box?"

"Sherlock.."

"Look.. I can't tell you, alright?"

"I'll find out anyway"

"Good, because it only states I can't tell you, it says nothing about you finding out yourself." Mycroft's lips curled. He stood and directed Sherlock to leave, petting the cat on his shoulder before he did so.

"Be ready for dinner tonight Sherlock, seven o'clock sharp"

"I know Mycroft"

Sherlock paused as he reached the door, not turning around. "You promised me they would be safe Mycroft. Don't let me down" Mycroft nodded gravely. "I don't intend to."

* * *

Sherlock rested on the bed again, Milton wandered around the room as Sherlock watched him closely. He was a strange little creature, incredibly curious about everything. He seemed to already like Sherlock, something the detective was secretly pleased about. So few people liked him. Yes he had Mycroft, but he was family, he had no choice, Molly had been roped into this by Sherlock himself and she used to have a crush on him, Irene, Sherlock wasn't exactly sure how she felt about him. But aside from them, he had no one else. At least not right now. He signed deeply at rolled onto his stomach.

The kitten dove under the bed to explore, however soon became frightened and began to cry. Sherlock moved to the edge of the bed and swung his head over. "Milton?" Another cry and the kitten rushed in the direction of the sudden voice. He mewed loudly and leapt at Sherlock's face in earnest. "Ow! Claws! No..no let go. My hair is not a toy, please let go!" Milton however had other ideas and happily batted at a growing curl. "Don't bite that, Milton. Why don't you listen?..Right because you're an infant and an animal." Brilliant. He pried away the kittens claws, wincing as his hair was pulled and picked up one of the toys, a clockwork mouse. With the kittens attention happily elsewhere, Sherlock turned his own to the phone, which had suddenly began playing a familiar tune.

_Well now, I get low and I get high_

_And if I can't get either I really try._

_Got the wings of heaven on my shoes_

_I'm a dancin' man and I just can't lose._

Moriarty had evidently customised his ringtone to Stayin' Alive. How dull. The message on the phone was dull and predictable as well. 'Happy Christmas Lockie'. Sighing Sherlock put the phone back under his pillow, however the tune began to play for a second time. "Please leave me alone Moriarty" This new message was a little more worrying.

'We'll be meeting really soon Lockie. Can't wait. Kisses! Jim'

If I have anything to do with it, we will never meet again. I have no desire to see your face Moriarty. But, if I end up again having no choice, then I will make sure that this time, I'm taking you down with me. He washed away rage present on his face and picked up his cheeky pet, waving a feather back and forth in front of him. "At least I have you for the time being, to cheer me up." The kitten made a purring sound as he jumped from side to side at the feather. Sherlock let himself chuckle at the playful behaviour.

* * *

"Again, Uncle John, again!"

"Aw honey, Uncle John is feeling a bit full and tired right now." Lily pouted. "Now don't make that face, it doesn't work on me." The pout deepened. John sighed and lifted himself up and rubbed his stomach, groaning slightly. "Alright, hurry up then. One, two, three, four.." Laughing, Lily, James and two of the cousin's ran off to hide.

"They adore you." John stopped counting, smiling and pecking his girlfriend on the cheek. "Yeah and me them. God, remind me of me and Harry when we were kids. Right little terrors we were." Mary laughed. "Well I can believe that, now get counting. One more game and then we should probably head back to the motel." She yawned. "Tired?" She swatted him playfully and poked him to continue his counting. Pouting, John resumed, skipping to eighty.

"Ninety seven, ninety eight, ninety nine...one hundred! Ready or not here I come!"

* * *

"Ready or not Sherlock"


	73. 73

Christmas dinner at the Holmes household was not your typical holiday dinner. Yes they had the traditional food and drink, they even had christmas crackers. Although both Sherlock and Mycroft refused to wear the silly paper hats and Sherlock didn't understand the need for plastic toys and horrible jokes. In the end Sherlock did wear a paper hat, it was forced onto his head by one Molly Hooper. Mycroft tore his to shreds, much to the disappointment of the other three.

Milton spent the dinner playing under the table and dashing in-between the legs of everyone in the room. Sherlock would occasionally, accidentally drop a tiny piece of food on the ground, pretending to be completely innocent whenever he was found out. Everyone knew he wasn't innocent. Eventually Milton realised if he prodded Sherlock with his paw, this produced more food.

In the end, Mycroft picked up the kitten and held him until Sherlock was finished eating. His brother barely ate anything anyway, the last thing he wanted was for him to give the cat his food. He was far too thin. However, Mycroft noted, he ate all of his desert. Still has that sweet tooth.

They retired to Sherlock's room again, Irene had placed a sprig of mistletoe above the door way. Mycroft got away without so much as a peck, Sherlock made a face as Irene kissed his cheek and Molly spent rather a longer than needed time under the mistletoe, but it was none of Sherlock's business. The two women had become very close since they had come to live here but that was none of Sherlock's concern. They've even gone out to dinner several times but that had nothing to do with him.

The small group watched several cheesy Christmas films that night. Sherlock ended up falling asleep on the couch, the kitten on his stomach, fast asleep as well. Irene and Molly were huddled together under the blanket until three am, when Mycroft finally ushered them out of the room. He prodded his brother until he was half-awake and helped him to his own bed. He removed the collar for Milton and placed him on the end of the bed. Milton licked his paw for a moment and then decided to go sleep on Sherlock's head. Smiling, the elder Holmes gave it a pat and left.

* * *

"No"

"Aw come on, just open it! I promise it's nothing alive, dead or bloody."

"No"

"Pleeease? It's Christmas!"

"Fine."

Sebastian ripped off the packaging, his eyes widening at a brand new L129A1 Sharpshooter Rifle. It was sleek, black and beautiful. He lifted it from it's box and assembled it. His eyes clearly displaying pleasure.

"Not bad Jim"

"What were you expecting?"

"After loosing that bet yesterday, the opponent's arm or leg or something"

"Oh that. I dealt with him, but I didn't think you'd want a limb as a Christmas present."

"Good deduction" Jim grinned wolfishly.

"Now, what did you get me?"

"Coal"

* * *

Sherlock awoke to the sound of purring right beside his ear. He rubbed his eyes and gently moved aside the kitten that had decided to sleep on his pillow. Yawning, the detective stumbled towards his bathroom to take a shower. He dressed himself in plain tracksuit pants and a top once more, pulling on a green hoodie. And then something odd happened. Two phones rang. His regular one and the one from Jim.

Picking up his normal phone he noted the message was from his brother. It stated that on no account was he to leave his room for at least two hours. Well that wasn't happening, he was already bored and actually hungry. The other message was not as deletable.

_How was your Christmas Lockie? I see Johnny Boy had a lovely one with Miss Morstan's family. They have an adorable pair of twins. I doubt he even misses you anymore Sherlock. So why do you come and be my friend? If not I can always ask John._

_Until we meet again,_

_Kisses!_

_Jim._

He should inform Mycroft of the message but that would be revealing that he had the phone. However John's safety might be at stake. As well as the relatives of Mary Morstan. Sherlock placed Jim's phone in his jacket pocket and pulled the hood over his head. Milton mewed mournfully, he didn't want to be left alone. "Fine" Sherlock picked up the kitten and held him against his chest, expecting him to climb up to his shoulder again. Instead the kitten decided to explore the inside of his hoodie. Which was horribly ticklish. As Sherlock began to walk, the black kitten poked his head up from the top of the hoodie and chirped.

"Whatever you say"

As he neared Mycroft's office he could hear the distinct sounds of an argument and Mycroft was not on the winning side. He placed his ear to the wood and listened, his eyes widening in shock when he recognised the other voice.

"Mycroft, you are a complete and utter bastard! You should have told me months ago!"

It was John.


	74. 74

"Calm down"

"No, I won't calm down. You..you fucking bastard! How could you do this? How could you not tell us, tell me? After all that's happened, you keep this a secret! I can't believe you!"

"Look, there were mitigating circumstances.."

"Oh don't give me that bull. You should have told me. For God's sake, he's the reason your brother is dead, the reason my brother is dead. The least you could have done is tell me he was alive. Did you even think for one second, that we may still be in danger?"

"Of course I did! Look John, I felt you had gone through too much already, you were happy, moving on. I did not want to drag back into this dangerous world after everything that has happened. I thought I was doing you a favour"

"Well that was a shite deduction. I deserved to know. ..Me. In the end it was Molly who told me. Molly who had more balls than you'll ever have."

"Don't you dare presume that I didn't have the capacity to inform you. You have no idea what has been transpiring. If you only knew the hatred I have for that man, you would know exactly why my brother used to refer to me as the most dangerous man in London."

Sherlock felt like his ear was glued to the door. This was incredibly interesting and informative. John must have found out about Moriarty being still alive and now he'd come to Mycroft seeking what? Blood? An answer? Had he perhaps discovered the truth? Most likely not going by his words. Still he wanted them to keep talking. It was fascinating and it was John.

"Look, I'm here now. Tell me what you know. Tell me we're safe from that..that monster."

"Why don't you take a seat?"

There was the scraping of chairs.

"We discovered he was alive via a letter he sent to this location. One of my operatives had a chance meeting with him shortly after, he was lucky to escape with his life. He has attempted correspondence a few more times since then but I have never replied back."

"What did he say?" Mycroft sighed and took a breath.

"How are you? How's John? He sent videos of my operatives being tortured, I don't really know what else to tell you. You know what he's like. I'm sure you can imagine."

"All too clearly. But how did he survive?"

"That is anyone's guess. It's not my main concern. Fortunately my men have all but destroyed his once vibrant empire over these twelve months. He's hanging by a thread. I am concerned he will come back to London. That is the only reason I am talking to you about this. But you are not yet at risk. Should you become so I will not hesitate to protect you all."

"I can't trust you Mycroft, not after all this. But if you don't keep your promise.." He left the threat hanging.

"Rest assured, I shall not disappoint you."

"Good."

Milton chose that moment to inform Sherlock that he was once again hungry. The detective tried to get him to stop mewing, however Milton had other ideas. Namely, climbing out of Sherlock's hoodie and running back towards his bedroom.

"Come back here" Sherlock hissed, chasing the animal back to his room.

John's hand faltered over the handle. "Did you get a cat?" Mycroft inwardly cursed his younger sibling for almost blowing his own cover. Faking a smile he nodded. "Yes, this house is too big sometimes for one person..and his staff. A christmas gift" John smiled. Wow, Mycroft almost seemed human. That wasn't nice but he didn't exactly have any good feelings towards the man at this moment in time.

"Thats.. good. Anyway, better go. Thanks for telling me the truth."

"Anytime. Goodbye John"

"Later Mycroft"

* * *

After he fed the cat, Sherlock flopped on his bed and listened again to the conversation he had just recorded. Jim's phone actually proved useful. Poor John, he was right, he had had the right to know about Moriarty, just like he has the right to know about his best friend. Soon. He hoped.

The phone played Stayin' Alive once more, the song seriously getting on Sherlock's nerves. He clicked it open and stared at the message.

_Why aren't you replying back? I know you're there Sherlock. Come out and play! You'll make me cry if you don't text me back soon. I may have to blow up something to cheer me up._

_Love you!_

_Jim_

Great, wonderful. Now if he didn't reply Jim planned to blow up something. That left him little choice, he had no idea if Jim intended to go through with his threat but Sherlock did not want the blood of innocents on his hands. No more. He quickly typed back a brief message.

_I have no desire to respond. Please leave me alone. -SH_

Knowing the psychopath would reply again, he changed the alert tone to a simple beep. It was just in time, as the phone beeped loudly almost three minutes later.

_Aw, you're no fun Lockie. It's great to hear from you though! How are you? Are you utterly destroyed? Are you changed forever? I hope you haven't changed too much, you wouldn't be any fun! So, how was Christmas?_

_Jim :)_

_Fine. And I am fine also. I do not intend to continue this game of yours for very much longer. If you continue to text me, I will destroy this phone. -SH_

_Spoil-sport. I thought you liked games? Oh well, destroy the phone, I'll destroy a building. I think this apartment building might do very well. Look my dear, I won't bother you too often, if that's what you want, if you promise me something. That we will meet again. Soon, very soon. Can you do that for me darling?_

_Jim xxx_

_Very well. But I choose the date, when the time comes. -SH_

_And I will choose the location. Wonderful. Ta-ta then Lockie! Have a Happy New Year and I'll see you in the next one._

_Jim xxx_

Sherlock switched off the phone, his heart racing, sweat forming on his brow. He took three deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself down. Milton rubbed his legs sensing his owner's distress. The detective threw the phone into a drawer and picked up the little creature, hugging him against his chest. He sat down on the bed, stroking Milton's little head.

They were going to meet again one day soon. Soon. No, he didn't want this to happen. He only agreed to prevent lives being lost. To keep people safe. He won't go through with it. He'll tell Mycroft, he'll stay safe. And then next year, they will catch Jim and he will be able to go home and be reunited with everyone. See John again. Everything was going to be fine. Completely fine.

The phone beeped once more. Sherlock nervously wandered over to the drawer and picked it up.

_Oh and Lockie dear? If you tell Mycroft, I'll find out at some point, especially if you never show. And you won't like the outcome. So keep it a secret._

_Jim._

His legs buckled and he fell to his knees, again throwing the phone away, this time under the chest of drawers. This can't be happening. I don't want to, I don't want to see him again! He..I'm afraid. This is fear. I'm afraid. He'll kill me. I am not myself, I might not be able to win this game. I c-can't see him again! Not after what happened. But what do I do? What do I do? Sherlock felt tears fall from his wide eyes and he placed his shaking hand over them. He felt the continued purr from his pet but it did little to stem the fear and shock radiating through his body.

He was going to die. He had one month left.


	75. 75

When Mycroft opened the door to Sherlock's room, intending to give him a very strongly worded lecture, he found him blissfully asleep on his bed, Milton laying across his chest, purring loudly. Sighing, Mycroft sat on the edge of the bed, lifting the arm that was covering his brother's face. There were tear tracks running down his cheeks. Oh Sherlock. Mycroft put aside his anger and patted his brother's pale arm. They'll talk later.

* * *

Sherlock was quieter than normal after John's visit, at least he seemed to be so in Mycroft's eyes. Was it because of how much he missed the doctor? Or was something else bothering him? Whatever the case, his brother refused to divulge why he had been crying the night before. Mycroft decided that he would go back to distracting his little brother with cases and missions. Sherlock went undercover twice before New Years Eve. Once as The Angel and the second time, as a homeless man named Siggy. But even going outside seemed to do very little in terms of cheering up the lonely detective. Mycroft was at a loss.

* * *

Sherlock had tried to remain optimistic about things since Boxing Day, but he knew he was failing miserably. He still tried to catch glimpses of his friends while out undercover, wondering how they were, if they were happy, if they were thinking of him. Wondering if he would ever see them again, face to face. John still looked angry. Sherlock could sympathise.

He had every right to be angry.

* * *

"John slow down, I can barely hear you. Now start again, from the top. Who's alive?"

"Moriarty. Fucking Moriarty! He survived somehow and Mycroft's been keeping it a bloody secret!"

There was silence on the other end of the phoneline. And then.

"Are you sure?"

"I've seen proof"

"Shit"

"Exactly"

"Are we safe?"

"He thinks so, but I don't know if I should trust his judgement anymore. God, I mean I had just begun to think of him as a friend and now this! How is this fair, Greg? How is it Moriarty gets to live and Sherlock doesn't? Where's the justice in that?"

"..There isn't one. That's life I suppose. It isn't fair but I hope that doesn't mean he will have died in vain."

"Not if I have anything to do about it."

"John you aren't seriously considering going after the bastard?"

"That's exactly what I'm thinking"

"What about Mary? And your job? What about Sherlock? The kid died to protect us John, don't you dare run off and undo everything he sacrificed."

"Promise me John."

"..Fine, I promise. But if he comes after me, I'm not holding back"

"That's all I ask. Now, how's my Stag going?"

"You know you can't ask me that!"

"Come on.."

"Nope"

"Please?"

"Nope"

"Damn it"

* * *

_Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall, Humpty Dumpty had a great fall. All the king's horses and all the king's men, couldn't put Humpty together again. I rather like that nursery rhyme. Don't you?_

_Jim_

* * *

_Is this the Region, this the Soil, the Clime,_

_Said then the lost Arch-Angel, this the seat_

_That we must change for Heav'n, this mournful gloom_

_For that celestial light?_

_I think it is. I have found where we will meet again, Sherlock Holmes._

_Jim_

* * *

_The sword of Damocles is hanging over my head_

_And I've got the feeling someone's gonna be cutting the thread_

_Oh, woe is me, my life is a misery_

_Oh, can't you see that I'm at the start of a pretty big downer?_

_Always loved that movie. Fits your life right now doesn't Lockie?_

_Jim_

* * *

Sherlock never answered Jim's texts. He was no longer obligated. But they still haunted him. Even with their ridiculousness, he could sense the threats and darkness that lurked behind each one. They filled him with dread and fear. He wanted nothing more than to destroy the stupid phone and go on with his life. But Jim wouldn't leave him be. He tried to ignore them, but they sat at the back of his mind, mocking him in Jim's voice. He felt like a broken man again, without hope, without light. This wasn't right. This wasn't supposed to happen.

But it had and it would, unless he did something about it. Perhaps Moriarty would provide clues just to where he planned on meeting Sherlock. Perhaps he could devise a way to survive just as he had a year ago. A thread of light lit up in his life again and he grabbed it with both hands.

* * *

_Dear John,_

_Forgive me for again not responding to your emails. You must think me a poor friend. My life is not my own anymore. It is, I fear, in the hands of a madman. I am at a loss on what to do. If you realised you had limited time, very limited time, on this earth, how would you spend it? I am in trouble John. I do fear my time is limited. I do not have the luxury of visiting my loved ones. I wish to but they are too far away. And yet so close!_

_Should I spend my time trying to enjoy what I have left? Should I try and find a way out of this terrible problem that I have found myself in? Should I enjoy myself? Or should I not? What do I do, John Watson? I trust you. Danger is something you understand. If only I could visit you. Please do not think less of me or my mental state because of this. I regard you as a friend and I hope you will treat me as such._

_Normund Sigerson_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Text #1:...Humpty Dumpty obviously...
> 
> Text #2: Paradise Lost by John Milton
> 
> Text #3: From The Rocky Horror Picture Show


	76. 76

_Dear Normund,_

_Shit mate, I don't even know how to answer this. If you're in trouble and I suspect you are, perhaps I can help you. I know people, not on good terms with them right now but I know people high up who might be able to help._

_What's happened? What's wrong? I want to help you. Please let me help you. God yes, please come and visit. We have a spare room here, it would be wonderful to finally meet you face to face. Please come visit, we would love to have you._

_Your worried mate,_

_John._

* * *

_Tick tock goes the clock_

_And what now shall we play?_

_Tick tock goes the clock_

_Now summer's gone away_

_Jim_

* * *

_Dear John,_

_You wouldn't mind? I would not wish to be in the way or a bother to you. I would be quiet and keep to myself. I feel perhaps if I were among friends I would feel safe and happier. Thank you. Please inform of when would be a suitable time._

_Sometime in the new year perhaps? If I am correct I may only have January left. And then he will find me. But I will try not to dwell on such mournful things. Till the new year, John Watson. Thank you again, you do not know how happy this has made me._

_Normund Sigerson._

* * *

_Dear Normund,_

_Of course we wouldn't mind! We would really be happy to have you here. Please don't feel like you would be a bother or feel obligated to keep to yourself. We can go out for drinks, meet my friends, hang out. It will be great!_

_January's busy for me. But perhaps after the 20th? Me mates getting married on the 20th, I'm busy on the 15th, and for much of the first two weeks with work. But hey, anytime after the 20th just pop on over!_

_Who will find you? Who is after you? It's best not to dwell on something that's making you upset. Promise me you will explain everything when you come over, ok mate? Ok._

_Till the new year._

_John._

* * *

_Happy New Year Lockie!_

_Jim_

* * *

_Dear John,_

_Thank you. Really. I don't think a hundred thank you's would suffice and that is an awfully ridiculous amount of thank you's. I look forward to meeting you and your lovely Mary. And your friends of course. You are so fortunate to have so many. I wish only I had such luck._

_Yes, I promise to explain absolutely everything when I arrive. Tell your friend, good luck and congratulations on his wedding day. As it is now the new year's I feel odd replying, till the new year again. So instead, happy new year John Watson. I hope it will be a good one._

_Normund Sigerson._

* * *

A year. One year, 365 days. No, wait. 366, It had been a leap year. Although, technically it won't have been exactly a year for about two weeks, but it was as good as. He still couldn't believe so much time had passed. Time should have stopped, without Sherlock Holmes in it. But instead it just carried on. Instead the world had started to forget. Until John Watson decided to do something to prevent that and written his friend's adventures down on paper, so the world could understand what it had lost.

What he had lost.

* * *

Almost a year had past since Sherlock had seen John Watson, as himself and not as someone else. Part of him had died that day, occasionally it would revive itself, in a laugh, a taunt, a joke. Until Jim. Until Jim took his whole self and tore it too shreds. Mycroft tried to put it back together, but the glue never held. Instead he was stitched together, like some patchwork person, like Frankenstein's monster. No one knew, it didn't show itself physically.

But there were physical scars. Scars that he never used to have. Wounds which never should have existed. Scars criss-crossed his back, they dotted his legs and upper arms. Burn scars were fading on his chest. The brand was still there, as clear as it was when it was burned into his flesh, he remembered trying not to scream. Didn't want Jim to have the satisfaction, but it wouldn't stay in and it tore itself from his throat and he roared. How could such a small thing hurt so much?

* * *

Day's. Weeks. His world slid to a halt. It was today. It had been today. 366 days ago, today, his best friend had jumped from St Bart's. His life had been spread across the pavement. The rain had washed it away, he hadn't even waited for John to say goodbye. John had been too late. But he no longer blamed himself so harshly as he once did. After all, it hadn't been suicide. It had been sacrifice. He had died to protect the people he cared about.

Mary held his hand tightly in her own, stroking his with one finger. "It's alright to cry, John" He shook his head. No it wasn't. He was the solider, he had to remain stoic, in control. Especially in front of his friends. They were all waiting in front of the grave, all in black, waiting for him. The best friend. Everyone was there, except Mycroft. Good. He'd only punch him if he showed his face now. He still wasn't ready to forgive him

Lestrade gave him a smile and a nod, waiting patiently in a black suit, his hands clasped in front of him. Anna stood beside her fiance, a bump showing through her black dress. In a few months her bump would grow and then, a new life would be born into the world. John would be there to help welcome him. The godfather, the uncle.

Mrs Hudson stood on the other side, next to a quiet, and extra shy, Molly. Mrs Hudson was dabbing at the corners of her eyes. It was sad, so few people had come to remember him. He knew that many would come in the following days, but only his closest friends, his family, had come to the Anniversary.

"John"

"Greg"

"Did you want to start us off?"

"Of course"

He smiled sadly and stood at the head of the small little group of mourners. He stood opposite the headstone itself. John fished through his pockets for the folded piece of paper he had spent the whole night writing. He opened it up and cleared his throat.

"Sherlock, we stand here today to remember you. To not remember your death, but your life. To remember the good times, rather than the bad times. We remember your smiles, your smirks and grins. We remember the pranks and the teasing. We remember your chuckles, the rare genuine laughs and the giggling at crime scenes."

"We remember the brilliant deduction's, how you could see what no one else could, how you could make that amazing leap of logic and faith and solve a mystery in mere seconds. We remember how your face and eyes would light up when you discovered a clue or far more likely, the answer."

"I remember. I remember the experiments. The body parts where body parts shouldn't be. The early morning music sessions. I remember the frustration whenever you got sick from lack of eating and sleeping, whenever you got yourself hurt from being reckless."

"But I also remember your hidden heart. How you made me smile when you let your human side peek out. How you made me laugh, how you made me feel I was alive again after almost dying in war. You had a heart, despite what you thought. Because I knew it was there, we all did. I know why now, I know why you kept it hidden. Because people hurt you. It's all right now Sherlock. No one can hurt you anymore. Be at peace. We love and miss you very much."

* * *

John couldn't see the ground, or the headstone, his eyes were blurry with unshed tears. He didn't even remember crying. Mrs Hudson was holding Molly, both weeping. Lestrade rubbed his eyes, Anna had her arm around his waist, holding him close. Mary was hugging him from behind, resting her head on his shoulder.

"That was wonderful John"

She murmured, kissing his cheek. Mrs Hudson nodded. "Perfect dear. Just perfect." Molly smiled shyly, agreeing with Martha. Greg nodded as well. "Brilliant mate, but then, you're a brilliant writer" John chuckled, putting the paper back in his pocket and taking the wreath from Mary and laying it against the grave. The other's all turned to leave, planning to meet up back at John and Mary's place.

John rested his hand on the cool, black stone. "Are you there Sherlock? I hope you are, but I also hope you've moved on too. It's funny, grief. I used to feel you were everywhere, but now you're nowhere and I still miss you. Um, Lily made me a drawing for christmas and it made me cry. It was beautiful. There was me and Mary, smiling and holding hands, Lily was holding mine, James holding Mary's hand. And right up the top, sitting on a cloud, was you. You had this big, white wings. And, it just made me cry. Not in front Lily mind you. I had it framed. She was ecstatic."

"Look, I don't know what's going to happen in this year, nothing used to happen to me and then everything did. And now, I think it's somewhere in between. I know there will be a wedding, I know a new friend will be coming to visit. I know around May or June there will be a mini-Lestrade. But beyond that..is anyone's guess."

"There's one another thing. He's alive Sherlock, Moriarty. He faked his death. But I promise you I won't go looking. Not unless he finds me. And he won't. Your brother has made me a promise. Bastard or no, he keeps his promises. So don't worry. I'll be alright. I'll stay safe. Goodbye mate."

* * *

If John had only looked to the left, he would have seen the hunched over figure of a tall, dark-haired man in a blue hoodie. With angel's wings.

 


	77. 77

Sherlock had returned home, after to visit to his grave, to find a package on his bed, next to a purring Milton. Petting the kitten absent-mindedly, he ripped off the brown paper to find, a violin case. He lifted the lid, removing the beautiful instrument inside. A note fluttered down onto the bed. It was Mycroft, of course, who else?

_This is a loan only. I am not sure if you miss yours or not but I thought until you returned to Baker Street that perhaps this one would suffice. Do not break it, scratch it or spill something on it._

_And feed the cat._

_Mycroft._

Sherlock smiled ever so slightly and fiddled with the instrument until he was satisfied. He then picked up the bow and played a single chord. Milton raised his tiny head, yawning far wide for someone with such a little mouth. He played another note, Milton watching him intently. Soon a beautiful, haunting melody sprouted from the violin as Sherlock played. It felt wonderful to hold a violin in his hands once more. To hear the strings come to life.

Milton agreed, which is why he began to cry and mew to the music.

* * *

John never told anyone, but Lily's picture had spawned three interesting if somewhat sad dreams. Of Angel Sherlock. Angelic Sherlock was much like regular Sherlock, though his coat was as white as snow, so where his pants and shirt. His scarf was a brilliant gold. He always seemed to glow. His personality however was just the same. Loud, rude, slightly neurotic for some reason. And then there were the wings. Big, white, magnificent wings, that kept knocking things off shelves and twice, knocking John himself over.

* * *

" _Would you stop knocking over all my belongings!"_

" _I am trying!"_

" _Yes you're very trying."_

" _Oh, real mature, **Watson** "_

" _Learnt from the best, **Holmes.**  Aren't you used to those things by now?"_

" _No! They keep growing. First they were small. God, if they get any bigger I won't be able to live anywhere. Ha! Live."_

" _Look, just sit down and...I don't know, curl those things around you or fold them. Just sit down!"_

" _Fine" He perched on the end of the couch, pulling up his knees and wrapped his arms around them. The wings curled protectively around his body._

" _Happy?"_

" _Ecstatic"_

* * *

" _What do you do all day? And can you stop glowing? I'm going blind"_

" _I hunt demon's, chase villains, solve stupid mysteries. And I'm not a bloody torch! I can't turn it on and off. I'm not very good at this..angel thing."_

" _Sound's like you're having fun without me though."_

" _God no. When can you get here? I'm going nuts! They expect me to be good and polite, all the time. Me, polite!"_

" _God forbid. And not for a long time I hope Sherlock. Not that I don't miss you, I just, you know, don't plan on dying anytime soon"_

" _Damn it. Swearing! These people up there that don't want me swearing either."_

" _Are they all like that?"_

" _Just the ones I have to hang around with. They're all such morons. Especially this one guy, wears a stupid trench coat and moans to me about his boyfriend. Boring!"_

_A bracelet on Sherlock's wrist seems to glow brighter several times. The detective sighs and stands up, trying not to knock down John this time._

" _I have to go. See you some other time."_

" _Goodbye Sherlock.."_

* * *

John never minded those dreams, Sherlock was such a hilarious and awkward angel and it was nice to have a dream where he seemed himself, and not covered in blood, moaning like a zombie. He was dreaming of him less and less though. Maybe that was a good thing. It does not to well to dwell on bad dreams, he thought. It's not forgetting him if I stop dreaming of him. Is it? ...Nah.

* * *

With his days rapidly running out, Sherlock had begun to pack discreetly, keeping the suitcase under the bed. If he got to spend even a few days with John then everything would be worth it. Even if he hated him for lying. Which he probably would. Still, Sherlock wouldn't care as long as he had John by his side. In a few days, Lestrade was to be married. Mycroft had been invited to the stag, which Sherlock found slightly amusing. Especially considering how angry John was currently at Mycroft. He was also invited to the wedding. Sherlock intended to attend as well, in disguise of course.

He continued playing, the songs always sad and depressing in nature however. The other's did not fail to notice, but never asked as to why. Sherlock had gone back to being silent. Mycroft could occasionally coax out a few words but that was it. And he knew something was wrong. He knew it had to do with Moriarty. And he was almost certain that it involved a phone. But he couldn't find the blasted thing.

He only hoped that this was a temporary phase and that after catching or more likely, killing, a few more of Moriarty's men and then the man himself, Sherlock could go home. And what a relief that would be. But until then, Mycroft was going to have to think of a way to keep his brother safe and happy. Not an easy task.

Made far worse by the fact that tomorrow he would be attending a stag party that by all rights he had no reason to. Sherlock should be. Yes Mycroft thought of them as friends, but Sherlock knew them better, was closer to them. He should be there, toasting Lestrade, far more likely, to be insulting him and getting blind drunk in the process.

He was going to have to think of something extra special to cheer him up this time. What he didn't know was that someone already was.

* * *

**NordicExplorer has logged on.**

**ArmyDoctor has logged on.**

_NordicExplorer: Are you sure this is a good idea? I have never used an instant messaging site before. Is it safe for the computer?_

_ArmyDoctor: Of course, trust me it will be fine. No viruses or anything of the sort. I just thought it would be nice to talk one on one for a change. You know, no emails. Instant..like it says on the can._

_NordicExplorer: What can?_

_ArmyDoctor: It's an expression, they mustn't have it in your country._

_NordicExplorer: Probably not._

_ArmyDoctor: So, how are you? Doing better I hope._

_NordicExplorer: Somewhat. Sort of. Not very._

_ArmyDoctor: Oh dear. Is there anything I can do?_

_NordicExplorer: Not unless you can sprout wings and fly across the Channel._

_ArmyDoctor: Unfortunately no._

_ArmyDoctor: Looking forward to meeting you soon._

_NordicExplorer: As am I. It will be nice to stay with someone I know. I have been to London before. The people were not very nice at the hotel I stayed at._

_ArmyDoctor: That's too bad. How come?_

_NordicExplorer: I do not know. They made fun of me._

_ArmyDoctor: That's not on. It won't happen here, I promise you. :)_

_NordicExplorer: Thank you, I am most grateful._

_ArmyDoctor: Not a problem. Oh, Mary' home, with a bag load of groceries. She'll kill me if I don't go over and help. Chat to you later?_

_NordicExplorer: Of course. Would not want you to get in trouble. See you later John._

_ArmyDoctor: Bye Normund!_

_ArmyDoctor has logged off._

* * *

**Gorgeous_In_Westwood has logged on.**

_Gorgeous_In_Westwood: How come I never get invited to these things. ;_;_


	78. 78

_There was a blinding light that propelled John backwards, conveniently into his armchair. It had transported itself to his new flat. As it often did. Very handy. Not to mention comfortable._

" _Sherlock, warn me next time you do that!"_

" _I knocked.."_

" _Yes and people are supposed to wait for an answer before just appearing out of thin air."_

" _Technically I didn't appear out of thin air, you see it's actually more complicated-"_

" _Shut up Sherlock"_

_Today he wore a white suit, white shirt and pants. Always white. The wings were not fully outstretched yet. Just as well._

" _Getting a handle on those things yet?"_

" _No. Don't ask" John chuckled._

" _Don't laugh either!" Aw he looked so hurt._

_Sherlock pouted and abruptly turned around, his arms folded and his back to John._

" _Aw come on. I was only teasing"_

" _You can't keep ignoring me" Sherlock started to unfold his wings._

" _No..no, don't you do that! Sherlock! Control yourself! And..your wings"_

" _Alright! I apologise! You are such a child."_

" _Were, not are"_

" _Semantic's Sherlock"_

_The ex-detective smirked and sat in his regular seat, perched on the edge as always"_

" _You know, sitting like that makes you look like a bird"_

_Sherlock glared. John raised his hands in surrender._

" _So what's this about a Stag Party and why am I not invited?"_

" _Because you're dead. Bit tricky sending mail to the after life. Unless you know of a, I don't know, Post Mortem Office?"_

" _That's no excuse and real mature John."_

" _Actually I thought it was rather clever"_

" _You would"_

" _Tea?"_

" _God, yes."_

* * *

" _Who is he?"_

" _What? Who? Where?...Sherlock stop doing that!"_

" _Never. Who, is he?"_

" _Who?"_

" _That man you've been talking to for ages. You've taken to instant messaging him now"_

" _What's the matter? Jealous?"_

" _What? No, we weren't a couple. Why would I be jealous?"_

" _Other things can make people jealous Sherlock. And he's just a friend"_

" _How do you know he's safe? He might work for Moriarty"_

" _Worried?"_

_Sherlock looked away. "No"_

" _You are worried. Don't worry I talked to Mycroft about him in the beginning and when he comes over I'll have your brother on speed-dial. But he's just a regular guy, who's going through a tough time right now."_

" _I'm going through a tough time right now"_

" _Stop pouting."_

" _No"_

" _Child"_

_Sherlock peered at the suddenly working computer._

" _Just a friend. Not a ..best friend?"_

" _What? No. Oh. That's what this is about. I'm not replacing you with him Sherlock. I'd never do that"_

" _Would make sense if you did. I wasn't..really a good friend."_

" _Mate, you were and are and always will be my best friend. Alright?"_

" _Promise?"_

" _Cross my heart"_

" _Good."_

_"...Wasn't that from one of those Star Journey movies?"_

_"Star Trek."_

_"...And shut up Sherlock"_

* * *

The Stag party was brilliant. Especially after several beers. The expensive pub was packed with people John didn't even know. Or perhaps he did and after five pints he'd just forgotten. Lestrade was laughing his head off about something and John could see Mycroft alone in a corner, nursing a glass of wine. He seemed..content. . Sod!

John felt his blood rising just at the sight of the elder Holmes. So he looked away. A toast was in order anyway.

"Oi! Ev'ry'ne, I wanna pr'pose a to'st. Hey! Sh't Up!" The room went silent.

"Th'nk you. Gr'g, m'te. You've been w'th me thr'ugh s'me tough t'mes. And I th'nk you for it. You're a good m'te Gr'g, a gr'at friend and you w'll be a w'nderful hus'band. To Gr'g!"

They all raised their glasses in a toast, half of them spilling the contents into their laps or down their shirts. John sat back down, and landed on the floor. Lestrade thought this was hilarious. Mycroft however thought perhaps the doctor should be heading home. As the best man, it would be preferable if he was not suffering from a huge headache on the Wedding Day. Lestrade on the other hand, Mycroft wasn't sure if he could get them both home.

John was his main concern however, as always. "Up we get, Dr Watson" The doctor in question swayed back and forth before vomiting all over Mycroft's shoes. "Wonderful." Mycroft wrinkled his nose at the smell and wrapped his arm around John's shoulders and steered him towards the door.

"Bye Johnny!" Someone shouted.

"Later, MyCrotch!"

Mycroft bristled before pushing John out the glass door and into the waiting black car.

* * *

John was laughing. "He c'lled you Mycrotch! Mycrotch!"

"Yes, hilarious."

"Wh're we g'ing? You kidn'pping me ag'in? Mycrotch"

"No John. I am taking you home. You've had far too much. And stop calling me that."

"No. Wh'ts the t'me?"

"Late enough."

"Mary w'n't be h'me then."

"Perhaps that's for the best. Ah, here we are. Out you pop. Do you think you'll be alright by yourself?"

"I d'n't need _you_ r h'lp. Bye, Mycrotch"

Mycroft sighed. "See you at the Wedding"

* * *

**ArmyDoctor has logged on.**

**NordicExplorer has logged on.**

_ArmyDoctor: Normie! Mate! How re yu?_

_NordicExplorer: John? Are you alright?_

_ArmyDoctor: Yes! :DDD. i'M GreT!_

_NordicExplorer:..You are drunk._

_ArmyDoctor: Isn'T it Graet!_

_NordicExplorer: Perhaps for the drinker. Maybe you should be resting. Isn't it late where you are?_

_ArmyDoctor: Who cars? So, wat yu been diong?_

_NordicExplorer: I find it difficult to understand you...but I have been packing..are you sure you are alright?_

_ArmyDoctor: I'm A DOCTA! I'm fune! XDDD Hey! Normie...wanna hera somethung finny?"_

_NordicExplorer: ...Yes?_

_ArmyDoctor: MYCROTCH!_

_NordicExplorer: ...Your what?_

_ArmyDoctor: No, it's His NamE. Mycrotch Holms. Shelrock's brother._

_NordicExplorer: ..What?_

_ArmyDoctor: Nvm. I better go. Gonna pass OuT or Somthung. Laterz!_

_NordicExplorer: ..Laterz?_

**ArmyDoctor has logged off.**

**NordicExplorer has logged off.**


	79. 79

Mycroft returned home to find Molly and Irene in one of the living rooms. He didn't even have to ask, he could guess what must have happened. Irene looked up as he walked in with a sigh. "How did it go?" She queried, not even really caring. Mycroft shrugged.

"It wasn't bad. Everyone got ridiculously drunk."

"Except you of course" Mycroft straightened his suit jacket, trying to look as pompous as possible.

"I have a reputation to maintain."

"Ah. Makes sense. How was John and Lestrade?"

"Incredibly drunk of course. I took John home, he wasn't very grateful. Can't say I blame him really. The Magnificent Hermit still in his room?"

"He threw us out. Said he wanted to compose. I say threw, it was more politely ask with veiled threats. Most words I've heard out of him in two weeks." Irene moved her checkers piece two spaces. Mycroft resisted the very strong urge to roll his eyes and nodded a farewell to the two women and headed towards his brother's room.

* * *

Sherlock was indeed composing when he arrived. His brother stood in front of the window, music stand to one side, telescope to the other. Himself in the centre as he delicately lifted the bow over the peal white strings. He should really be sleeping. The music was soft with a touch of melancholy. It wasn't one he'd heard before. Very new then. Sometimes he would start songs and never finish writing them, then start up months or even years late. Mycroft would have loved to hear the entire song but his brother decided to stop once he'd realised his sibling was in the room.

"How are you?" He received a short grunt in reply.

"The Stag went well."

"I know"

"Oh using words now are we?" Sherlock returned to grunting as a form of speech. Mycroft rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed.

"I saw John"

"I know"

"How can you know?"

"..Mycrotch"

Sherlock's eyes lit up with repressed mirth and held in his laughter as he strummed the violin. Mycroft opened his mouth to retort but gave up. Why wasn't he surprised? He knew the two were messaging each other, but had been unaware that John had drunkenly posted the insult that night. Wonderful. He would never hear the end of this.

"Yes, well. Let's not dwell on such things shall we?"

"Your house...Mycrotch"

* * *

**ArmyDoctor has logged on.**

**NordicExplorer has logged on.**

ArmyDoctor: Normund? You on?

NordicExplorer: John? How are you feeling?

ArmyDoctor: Look, I'm sorry about last night. I was wasted.

NordicExplorer: It's ok. It was...quite amusing. Don't you have a wedding to go to this afternoon?

ArmyDoctor: Yeah, I just wanted to pop on and apologise. I didn't say anything stupid did I?

NordicExplorer: &.No, nothing at all.

ArmyDoctor: Phew, thats a relief. Well, better go and get ready! See you soon Normund!

NordicExplorer: Looking forward to it John.

**ArmyDoctor has logged off.**

**NordicExplorer has logged off.**

* * *

"How do I look?" John's mouth fell open at the sight of his gorgeous girlfriend. She was stunning in a pale blue gown, complete with blue earrings and white purse. John suddenly felt like he was dressed as casual as a couch potato. He couldn't hold a candle to Mary. But he didn't really want to. Why should he compete when she was so absolutely stunning? Mary raised her eyebrows, smile slipping across her face as she watched and waited for John to make a comment. Or perhaps just stand there with his mouth open for a little longer.

"Wow. Just...wow" She giggled and swatted at him.

"Thank you. Not so bad yourself" John grabbed his lapels and stuck his chest out.

"I try. Ready?" He offered her his arm, which she gladly took.

"Absolutely"

"You'll outshine the bride"

* * *

The wedding was held at a beautiful little chapel on the outskirts of London. The chapel was filled to the brim with relatives, friends, co-workers and well wishers. John felt privileged to be the Best Man, his face grinning widely as he watched his friend place a ring onto his new wife's finger. He cheered and clapped louder than the rest of them when Greg and Anna kissed passionately. Sure he couldn't help feeling that someone was missing from the proceedings, but he was sure he was there in spirit ...complaining.

And in fact, Sherlock was nestled at the very back of the chapel, in full disguise, a few seats away from Mycroft. It had taken one almost puppyish look and a strong argument to get his brother to bring him here but it came with it's own list of conditions.

Don't talk to the couple, don't talk to John or Mary or Mrs Hudson. Leave as soon as it is over. Do not go to the reception. Stay hidden. Boring. Did people really like weddings? This one nearly put him to sleep. He was only here because it was Greg getting hitched. Weddings seemed utterly, mind-numbingly dull. He was glad when it was over. The sooner he got home, the sooner he could finish packing and wait for John to get online. Of course he would have to allow for John to go to the reception and come home but Sherlock could be patient. Usually. Ok, maybe sometimes.

The couple walked down the aisle, their feet barely touching the ground, they seem incredibly happy, almost lighter than air. A drug that Sherlock felt he would never obtain. The Yarders formed a guard of honour outside the Chapel door's for the new husband and wife. Sherlock couldn't remember ever seeing Greg in such a wonderful mood, with such a brilliant smile. His wife had a smile that matched her husbands, it didn't take Sherlock Holmes to be able to deduce she was pregnant. Soon Greg would be a father. Sherlock was...conflicted but believed himself to be happy for him.

Greg just wanted to grab his new wife and never let go. And to snog her brains out. Other things as well but they'd all have to wait for their first night together. Except the snogging. He truly could not believe the turn out. People he hadn't seen for years had turned up! Friends and relatives, co workers, just about everyone he ever knew or cared about. Well, except one person. But he wouldn't dwell on that on such an amazing day.

He simply turned and gave John a thumbs up and a wink and followed Anna into the beautiful white limosine that was waiting. Courtesy of M Holmes of course.

* * *

**Gorgeous_In_Westwood has logged on.**

**TheSniper has logged on.**

TheSniper: This is stupid.

Gorgeous_In_Westwood: What? This is awesome! Great fun!

TheSniper: We're in the same goddamn room!

Gorgeous_In_Westwood: 8D

TheSniper: No

Gorgeous_In_Westwood: :C

Gorgeous_In_Westwood: ;_;

Gorgeous_In_Westwood: Hey, I'm bored, Lockie isn't on to torment, though I am giving him maybe one or two torture free days before we grab him. Poor baby needs it. Needs to think there's hope. Though I may give him a little clue as to where we will meet. Just for fun. XD

TheSniper: Jim, why can't you just leave the sod alone? This obsession you have with him is ruining the business!

Gorgeous_In_Westwood: Oh Seb, it's already ruined. Got to start again. After I kill Sherlock Holmes. Little Lockie thinks he'll get to see Johnny Boy again and reveal that he's alive. Silly detective, that is not going to happen. There won't be an emotional reunion for you, except with me. That will only end in tears. And then we can focus on the business, ok?

TheSniper: Not ok, but so long as I get to shoot somebody soon I'll be satisfied for now.

Gorgeous_In_Westwood: Trigger finger itching? They have a powder for that.

TheSniper: Shut up


	80. 80

**ArmyDoctor has logged on.**

**NordicExplorer has logged on.**

ArmyDoctor: Hello?

NordicExplorer: Hey, how was the wedding the other night?

ArmyDoctor: Great! Really! Small but wonderful. I hope Greg has a happy life together with her.

NordicExplorer: Indeed. Uh, may I ask when is a good day to come over? All I have to do is book a ticket. That is if you still want me..

ArmyDoctor: Of course I want you to come stay with us! Mary has the guest room all done up for you. We can't wait! Is in a few days good for you?

NordicExplorer: Yes, yes it's fine, it's great. Wonderful. Well I better book my ticket then. And make sure I have not forgotten anything. Really, thank you John Watson.

ArmyDoctor: Not a problem mate. Looking forward to see you.

NordicExplorer: You too...definitely.

**ArmyDoctor has logged off.**

**NordicExplorer has logged off.**

* * *

Sherlock was in a brilliant mood, if he wasn't worried about breaking his cover, he might even have begun to whistle. His hair was still short but much curlier and back to it's normal colour, he knew his appearance may be slightly different but hopefully in time that would change. He wondered what John's reaction would be. This was something he'd often thought about.

He was certain there would be pain. John would most likely punch him. That he had no doubt. But what he might say and do after was another story entirely. Would he say he hated him? Would he still be angry or in shock? Would he yell? Would he cry? What if he didn't want him there? What if the minute he'd overcome the shock of seeing his best friend coming back to life, he kicked him out of his home? That thought worried Sherlock for the rest of the night.

The idea that John might not forgive him or simply slam the door in his face was something he could not deal with. Not in his current state. The thought that John might allow him to come in, but not be able to deal with his changed personality also worried him. Sure Sherlock would probably be exuberant and ecstatic to see John, but he knew he would fall back into his current pattern of locking himself away.

Before his Fall, he'd go for days without talking, that was different now. He didn't talk for entirely different reasons. He was very quiet, almost never raised his voice, was apologetic and worried that he might say something that angered others. He rarely smiled or laughed and he still had the tendency to isolate himself even in a room filled with people. Sherlock no longer teased or insulted anyone. It was if Jim had ripped out everything that made him Sherlock and left him with nothing. He'd stripped away all the protective layers and tormented the little boy inside until he broke.

But John, John could fix him. He had to fix him. He wanted to go back to the way things were, but at the back of his head was that little voice torturing him, what if it can't? What if it's permanent? What would he do if it was? What would John do? Or Lestrade, Mrs Hudson? He shook his head. He should concentrate on what he should say to John. Hey I'm alive was not appropriate. He considered asking Irene but that would alert Mycroft, not that he didn't know what Sherlock was planning, he simply didn't condone it. But Sherlock didn't care anymore. Even if he had to sneak out of this house, actually quite an easy feat, he was going to see John and no one could stop him.

Except one.

* * *

The message came the day before he was due to leave. It was in a plain black envelope, specifically sent on a day and time when Mycroft was not at home but at the Diogenes Club. Sherlock knew immediately who it was from. Who else would sent him a black, elegant envelope? Dark and elegant, wasn't that Jim all over? The letter inside was bordered in the same black. The message confirmed his fears and what he had already assumed.

_Dear Lockie,_

_It's been awhile since I wrote a letter to you, as apposed to a text. A letter is more personal, you know? And we know each other very well now don't we? I don't know if you've figured out where we will meet, I haven't sent clues, I was thinking about it but, I thought, I like surprises, surprises are fun! And what better surprise then the place where you'll meet your arch-enemy?_

_So I'm not going to tell you, you'll figure it out fairly soon. Especially since I included some tickets for you along with this letter. Aeroplane ticket, train ticket, I'm just that generous. Look honey, I knew you wanted to see John again, but it would only break his little heart. I'd much rather break yours._

_Now I know you think that perhaps you can just ignore this but did you happen to hear about that car explosion on Baker Street this morning? That was my doing. Just a little warning and proof that I still have connections here. Fail to show up and the next car bomb is right outside John's flat._

_Don't worry though, I keep my promises, you come, I will not harm them. And I'll even tell them everything that's happened since you've been gone. It will be nice to see the look on their faces when they realise that you've been alive all this time but no longer. And poor brother Mycroft. He'll be crushed won't he? Wonderful, always wanted to break the Iceman._

_Looking forward to seeing you soon. The plane leaves early tomorrow morning. Don't be late or John will be._

_Ta-ta!_

_Jim. xxx_

* * *

Sherlock felt his knees meet the floor, his hands following soon after as the paper fluttered to the ground. He was panting, sweat pouring down his face, mingling with tears. He tried to hold them back but they continued of their own accord, slipping down his face and pitter pattering onto the carpet. Biting his lip he tried to control his breathing. He had to calm down. He had to be rational and logical about this.

He knew, even before viewing the tickets, he knew where they'd end up. It was so obvious, where else? Sherlock had dictated where they would meet everything, like in chess. It was only understandable why Jim would want to choose this time. Sherlock would have to studied every angle he could get on this place. He had the rest of the day and night to formulate a proper plan of survival. He did not want to die, not now, not after everything that had happened. He would not let Jim win. He was not the chess master, he did not dictate Sherlock's every move across the board. Sherlock had to believe he could win, it was the only way he could live. If he allowed the thought of loosing into his mind, it would linger and fester and he would fail.

He sat up, wiping his eyes and dripping nose, straightened his clothes and pulled himself upright. He'll need to apologise to John somehow. Maybe one day he'd understand the sacrifices Sherlock had gladly taken on his behalf and not judge him too harshly. After all everything he'd done, was to keep him safe. Even at the cost of his mind and body.

* * *

Sherlock didn't sleep that night. Every problem, every solution, every mistake and answer swept through his head. There was a way to live, surely. There had to be a way to survive. He also toyed with the idea of telling John over the computer or text but it wouldn't be right. It would be cruel and he would most likely not believe him. Still, he couldn't leave him hanging, waiting for a man who may never appear...no he will appear, at some point.

**ArmyDoctor has logged on.**

**NordicExplorer has logged on.**

ArmyDoctor: Hey mate, what's up? Shouldn't you be on the plane right now?

NordicExplorer: Something went wrong with my passport. Probably just a mistake. I'm not sure if I'll be able to make it on time. I'll let you know as soon as things change.

ArmyDoctor: That's a bummer. I wish I could help.

NordicExplorer: It's alright John, I am sure things will work out soon. God knows I could do with a little luck right now.

ArmyDoctor: Aw cheer up mate. Things will work out, I am sure!

NordicExplorer: Thank you. I better go, battery running out. Goodbye my friend, see you soon I hope.

ArmyDoctor: See ya soon Normund!

**ArmyDoctor has logged off.**

**NordicExplorer has logged off.**

* * *

Goodbye John.


	81. 81

Sherlock took a long, warm shower that morning, he brushed his teeth, he combed his hair. He put on his best suit jacket and pants, over the top of his favourite purple shirt. Sherlock lifted his new Belstaff coat out of it's box and slipped it over his slim frame, finishing the look with the new green striped scarf. The tickets, his iphone and his wallet were all secreted into his pockets. All that was left to do was leave behind a note.

He hoped Mycroft would be forgiving. Should he not succeed. But he was certain that he would. But Mycroft would not be happy even if he did live. The fact that he left under his own nose, to meet Jim, would greatly anger his older sibling. But it had to be done, in the long run, his brother would understand.

_Dear Mycroft,_

_No doubt by now you have realised I am gone. Please do not be angry. Lives were threatened and I made the only logical choice that was open to me. Forgive me, if I do not live. It is up to you if the others need to be informed or not. If I have no choice I will take him down with me. But I am confident I will win this game. I only hold the cards, he is desperate, at the end of his rope, I can use this to my advantage._

_Apologise to Molly and Irene as well. I can only imagine their reactions and they are not pleasant._

_Thank you for trying to help me and bring me back. Neither of us are good at expressing how we feel, that was simply how we grew up. But know that I am grateful. I always complained about your constant vigilance and spying but I was thankful you cared, even if you find it a disadvantage. Perhaps it is, it is after all the reason I am leaving to fight Moriarty one last time. But perhaps it some ways it is an advantage, it is my incentive to win and beat Moriarty._

_Goodbye if I don't make it and See you soon, if I do._

_Sherlock Holmes_

* * *

It wasn't difficult to leave the house without his brother being alerted. Again Jim had chosen a date when he was at work. Sherlock easily left the building via a window and hailed a cab. He curled up in the back seat, his hands in front of his face, waiting, contemplating, worrying.

It stopped outside a small airfield, a little private jet waited on the tarmac. He handed the Stewardess, a short stern woman, his ticket and climbed up the waiting steps into the plane. He was the only one there, the only customer. Good. Privacy was essential. He declined the food, ignored the overly cheerful steward and focussed on the problem at hand. The Final Problem.

He had to win. Failure was no longer an option.

* * *

When Mycroft found the letter, furious was an understatement in terms of how he felt. How dare he do this! After everything that had happened, after all he had been through, why would he throw away his safety and his life to chase after a madman? Why hand't he waited? Mycroft deduced that he had no choice, but that did not mean he would face Moriarty alone. Sherlock had written one word in the corner of the letter that told him where he was going.

Mycroft would take the fastest plane available, he would get there before anything bad happened, and if Sherlock managed to get himself hurt, he would kill his brother himself. Stupid idiot. Why did he have to play the hero again?

Mycroft put these thoughts aside and put others into immediate action. Moriarty would rue the day he ever messed with the Holmes Family.

* * *

**ArmyDoctor has logged on.**

_ArmyDoctor: Normund? Have you left yet? Probably on the plane. XD I have your number, I'll text you in an hour or so ok? Ok_

**ArmyDoctor has logged off.**

* * *

_Normund? I'm getting a bit concerned now. I've checked the plane flight plans on their website, you should have arrived twenty minutes ago. Everything ok? -JW_

_It's been an hour, are you sure you're ok? Where are you? Please don't make me bring Mycroft into this. -JW_

_Mycroft? A friend of mine was due to visit awhile ago and I haven't heard from him. I'm concerned, which is the only reason I am texting you.. -JW_

_Oh, great so you're igoring me too. Is this Ignore John Watson Day or something? Did I miss a memo? -JW_

_This is not funny anymore. -JW_

_Sod this- JW_

_Normie can't come out and play right now JM_

_Who is this? What have you done with Normund? -JW_

_Oh really dear doctor, you haven't figured out who I am? I thought better of you -JM_

_Jim...-JW_

_Give the man a medal! Oh wait, you already have one. Me and Normie are going to have some fun and then I'll return him to you? Alright? And I apologise if he ends up a little...late -JM_

_You bastard! Leave him alone! He has nothing to do with anything! -JW_

_Makes it more fun! I'll send you pictures! Kisses! -JM_

* * *

Normund was in trouble, because of John. It was all his fault and he felt terrible. Because of his connections to Sherlock and Moriarty. Normund was innocent in all of this, if Mycroft didn't reply soon John was at a loss, he was sure Moriarty was not in London or even England. He could only pray that Mycroft replied back soon.

Before it's too late. Forgive me Normund for bringing you into this.

* * *

It felt like forever had passed by the time they landed. He ignored the staff and left the plane, surprised to see a cab waiting to take him to the train station. The place he was going was rather isolated, the only way to get there was by train. Sherlock wrapped the coat tightly around him, lifting up his collar and adjusting the scarf. He was pleased that he had dressed for warmth. Because after all, Switzerland could be very cold this time of the year.


	82. Final

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter, excluding the epilogue and then the authors note to thank you all. I hope it's ok. It doesn't do justice to what I see in my head but, it will do.
> 
> I'm sorry it took so long, my hands and arms and fingers are painfully itchy and I just got a dental splint. Joy.
> 
> The song is Now My Feet Don't Touch The Ground by Coldplay.

The train was cold, Sherlock sat alone, his carriage devoid of passengers. His knees were against his chest, one arm wrapped around them, his right hand flicking through photos on his phone. Some were of the Falls, he'd screen caputred them that morning, others were of Molly, Irene and Mycroft, John, Lestrade and Mrs Hudson. He flicked back to the one of John, then exited the app, preferring to access his music.

When he'd visited China during his travels a monk there had told him something he would never forget. 'The enemy is chaos, chaos reigns in hearts of un-peaceful people. A little chaos in our lives is good, some thrive on it, but to let it take over your entire being? If you are at peace in the heat of battle, you can overcome your foe.' Moriarty may be smart, he may even be strong, but he was chaos, he was not at peace. Far from it. Sherlock was had chaos inside too but he had a centre deep within that was calm, collected. He thrived on danger but did not wish it to take over his life. Moriarty would be deranged now, desperate perhaps, he would act not on logic but his emotions. And if Sherlock was at peace, with himself and his fate, then he could perhaps, just maybe, rid the world of James Moriarty.

* * *

Molly and Irene returned to an empty house, to silence. No questions answered. No note, no letter. Nothing.

So they thought the worst and waited.

* * *

Mycroft wondered if he had ever flown so fast in his life. The force generated by the jet made him physically sick, but he was taking no chances. Sherlock was stubborn, vulnerable and most of all, his little brother, he had to arrive before Sherlock did something he would regret and Mycroft would never forgive.

* * *

Sherlock pulled his coat closer and fixed the top button, tucking the emerald scarf beneath the fabric as he exited the train. A small carriage awaited on a little railway track for those wishing to go up to see the Falls. It was empty. Instead a note rested on the controls. Sherlock was to operate this himself. It couldn't be too hard. He could still back out of this, he was aware. But he was not willing to risk the lives of those he had spent so long protecting.

The detective closed the little red doors and stood in front of the controls and began his ascent.

* * *

John sat in his armchair, his hand trembling. A cup of steaming hot tea in the other. Another friend in danger because of his mistakes. Was he not meant to make new friends? If Normund survived, would he forgive John? Normund wasn't well, John knew that, he had PTSD just like John. Would he survive this mentally? Or had John's connection to Moriarty destroyed him forever?

Throwing the cup to the floor, watching it shatter, John tried to regain control of his emotions.

Forgive me Normund. Please. I never meant for this to happen.

* * *

His phone beeped. Moriarty was waiting, and he was impatient. Good, he could wait a little longer. The more he could inconvenience the criminal the better he felt. But unfortunately, Sherlock had reached his stop. Taking a breath he turned off the carriage's power and stepped over it's low doors. It was even colder up here. Snow covered the ground, a white mist swept through the entire area, crystals hung off the tree branches like christmas decorations. It was beautiful.

"Gorgeous isn't it?"

Sherlock didn't bother turning around as he examined what appeared to be a frozen red flower. He didn't need to, he knew that voice anywhere. It was the one that had haunted his dreams for many months.

"Yes."

"So...here we are! The place that made you famous Sherlock. Reichenbach Falls! What do you think? Beautiful isn't it?" He wandered closer to his prey, his arms behind his back, his tongue flicking as he teased the detective in a deadly, playful manner.

"Yes."

Silence.

"You cut your hair. It's nice, I like it"

Now he did turn. Moriarty was pale, with bags under his eyes that matched Sherlock's own. His hand twitched as the criminal attempted to not shiver as obviously as his enemy. He tilted his head from side to side in a familiar reptillian fashion. Sherlock made a decision, he may not feel or be himself, but he would fake it. So Moriarty would not know how deep he'd cut into his soul. So he wouldn't know he'd won back then.

"Must you continue to state the obvious?" Jim grinned.

"There's the Sherlock I remember. I began to think perhaps I'd killed him forever"

"Then you were mistaken."

They cirlced each other, one observing and deducing the other as they made paths through the wet snow. Sherlock could hear the roar of the falls behind him. Obviously not frozen. This had been a possibilty. Moriarty giggled as he watched emotions flit across the detective's face. Jim was clearly insane but it was more obvious now. He was at the end of his rope.

"It's good to see you again. It's been awhile"

"I beg to differ"

"That's it's been awhile?"

"That it is good to see you" James pouted, his tongue flicking in and out.

"Aw, well, I missed you. Last time I saw you was in that little cell! Remember? You were crying, you were so broken! It was wonderful. I hoped that would last forever but I forgot about your dear older brother."

"Your mistake"

"Well, I won't make another one." Jim stopped moving, his face smiling broadly, like a shark. Sherlock halted, standing to Jim's side, both now quite close to edge of rock that bordered the Reichenbach Falls. Sherlock smirked and nodded.

"No, you won't" Jim's eyes went wide.

"Oh, you think you can beat me?"

"I don't think, I know"

"Delusions Sherlock, delusions from a troubled mind. I chose this place. You chose the others, that was  _my_  mistake,  _my_  fault. But not this time. This time, I WIN! Your luck will have finally run out"

"You seem so sure. I'm taller, I'm stronger and judging by your face, your hands and your increasing alarming behaviour, the healthier of the two of us" Jim's eyebrows knotted, his brow furrowing. His head oscillated again.

"You won't win."

"Neither will you."

Jim sighed, flicking his tongue out again and looking up at the top of the falls. Sherlock had a sudden realisation, Moriarty had not come alone. Again, a possibility he had considered, hence the note to Mycroft who was sure to come to Switzerland with the calvary, guns blazing. Jim took a step closer to Sherlock.

"He won't shoot. He has orders. However, I knew it was a possibility that you may involve your brother and that is the only reason he is here. Though be careful, he is a little trigger happy." Moriarty shrugged off his coat, throwing it over a bolder, he'd move freer this way. Sherlock raised his eyebrows and removed his coat and scarf, resting them carefully across another rock.

"Ready?"

Sherlock nodded and Jim flew at him.

* * *

What was taking so long? It hadn't been possible to land the jet close to the falls so they'd had to land at a quiet, local railway station and wait for a special carriage to take them up to the falls. The staff had stated that two were missing and were searching for the emergency one. But it was taking far too long. Every second that passed was one second closer to his brother being in mortal danger.

* * *

Moriarty's attacks were frenzied, full of rage, fear and hatred. They were uncoordinated, desperate and ill thought out. It was if he attacked without thought, only anger. Sherlock had the advantage. He used his knowledge of the Japanese art of Bartitsu to deflect most of the chaotic punches, the weak wrestling and the violent but frantic attacks. He held onto the criminal with all his strength and will, ignoring the pain he'd received from his arch enemy. He bit his lip and attempted to sweep Jim's feet from beneath him, Jim retaliated by kneeing him in the stomach, causing him to double over.

The criminal laughed, but it sounded like an animal. He lifted Sherlock by his collar, pulling him into a standing position, his eyes briefly gazing at the tumbling white water, Sherlock's own eyes followed. Both thought the same thing. Tip the other over the edge. Their plans all along. But it wasn't so easy in practice. Jim pushed Sherlock back with both hands, into the side of the falls. Sherlock hit the rocks with a pain filled cry, sliding down into a crouched position. He wiped away the blood that flowed freely from his nose. Jim was picking up rocks from beneath their snowy cover and throwing them with all his might, at the injured detective. Sherlock managed to dodge most of them and charged at Moriarty, grappling with him, their feet occasionally slipping on the edge of the cliff face.

* * *

Neither knew how long the fight was taking. But both wanted it over. Moriarty's eyes weren't even human anymore, he was fighting like a demon. Sherlock took a deep breath, letting a soothing force flow through his body. He took another. He felt as if time was slowing down. It wasn't, that wasn't logical, it just appeared to be. He saw his chance and he took it.

* * *

_Let me go boys, let me go_

Screw the carriage, Mycroft thought. And he ran.

* * *

_Push my boat from the highest cliff to the sea below_

Mary rubbed John's shoulders, whispering soothing murmers into her lover's ears. Everything would be ok. Everyhting would be fine. It was not his fault. John held onto her hand tightly, in his other hand he held a Chinese worry ball. It had to be fine. It had to be ok.

But then why did he feel like something terrible was about to happen?

Like he was about to lose everything?

* * *

_Rocks are waiting boys, rocks await_

"He's kicking, he's kicking!"

Lestrade leapt up from his seat and ran over to his wife, hugging her from behind as he rested one hand on her swollen belly. He kissed her neck, her chin and then her cheek. She turned her head so she could kiss him properly. And then Greg felt it.

"I felt it! I felt him kick! Little fella's got a hell of a kick. Gonna be a football player, I guarantee it"

Anna laughed.

"I don't care what he will be as long as he is healthy"

* * *

_Swoop down from the sky and catch me like a bird of prey_

Sherlock held him tightly, then wrenched him to the side and off the edge. But Moriarty was not giving up that easy. If he had to go, he was taking the detective with him. He clenched his fists in Sherlock's jacket and pulled him over with him.

* * *

_Now my feet won't touch the ground_

_Now my head won't stop_

_You wait a lifetime to be found_

_Now my feet won't touch the ground_

Mycroft ran. Faster than he ever had before. Every bone and muscled ached but he persevered. The outcome of slowing down and being too late was not an option. There! He could hear the falls. He was close.

"Sherlock!"

There was no answer but Mycroft continued his ascent. It was possible he couldn't hear him over the roar of rushing water. By the time the elder Holmes reached the top he could see his brother and Jim Moriarty at war. Each in the other's arms, attempting to injure each other as much as possible and toss their opponent into the unforgiving water. Mycroft removed his gun from it's hidden holster.

He was on time. He wasn't too late.

* * *

But then he was. He watched, helplessly just out of reach, so close, yet so far away, as his sibling tumbled over into the falls, a look of shock and then determination on his face. No. No, absolutely not. Mycroft's feet rushed through the cold snow, he shivered, unprepared for the temperature. He ran to the edge, getting down on all fours.

"SHERLOCK!"

Answer me you idiot. Answer me! You're my brother, you could have still survived. Answer me!

* * *

His men arrived behind him. Mycroft's lips thinned and he stood. Business as usual. Barely.

"Search the bottom of the Falls. I'll be down in a minute"

"Yes Sir"

Panting and in dire need of catching his breath, he rested against a boulder, his eyes falling to stare at the long black coat and green scarf stuffed into one of it's pockets. He swallowed. He felt tears sting his eyes as he picked it up in his cold, shivering hands. No Sherlock. Not again. How could you do this to me again? Live Sherlock. Tell me you still live.

"Sir?"

"Yes?" He couldn't prevent the wavering in his voice.

"...We found them."

_Singing now my feet won't touch the ground_

_Now my head won't stop_

_You wait a lifetime to be found_

_Now my feet won't touch the ground_

_Now my feet won't touch the ground_

* * *

It wasn't meant to end this way.


	83. Epilogue

_If I hold out my hand_

_Would I change where you're standing now?_

_Just come back to me_

It took them 30 minutes to reach the bottom, 10 more to arrive at the plunge pool. They were ordered to touch nothing. Didn't matter, no one could have survived.

* * *

He was so pale, his lips blue, his skin matching the snow it rested upon. Blood covered white beneath black locks. A stream of blood trailed from his nose and down his chin. His eyes were mercifully closed. He was on his side, arms close to his chest, his hands grey and curled. One leg was tucked beneath him, the other obviously broken. His face was marred with bruises. It was too painful to look at him but he had no choice. He made a promise to protect him.

Mycroft walked slowly towards his sibling, everyone parted to give him room and privacy, no one had wanted to touch the young man until the older brother did first. He wrapped the coat around his brother's cold still form and sat down in the snow. He must have fallen into the water below and been washed onto the shore of the plunge pool. Mycroft could see the still body of Moriarty to his side and felt his hatred bubble. But it dissipated when his eyes fell back on to his little brother's peaceful face.

* * *

_Leave all you've found_

_That's keeping your heart on the ground_

_Just come back to me_

He pulled his brother's head into his lap, ignoring the cold that slipped throw his now wet trousers thanks to the snow. He stroked the dark locks and allowed himself to cry. Just a few tears though. It would do his brother no good to break down completely. No matter how much he wished he could. He had to save face, he had to be brave. For all those at home who had no knowledge of the events that had just happened. And perhaps they never will.

* * *

_Calling out your name_

_Wishing you could do the same_

_Just come back to me_

_Whatever it takes_

_I will wait until my dying day_

_Just come back to me_

This wasn't supposed to happen. Things weren't supposed to end this way. They were supposed to destroy the last of Moriarty's web and then the spider himself. And then, when he was ready, Sherlock was supposed to reunite with his friends, his family. There would be pain and tears but he hoped there would have been happiness, relief.

John was supposed to fix Sherlock. They were supposed to go back, eventually because Mycroft was realistic, to being best friends. Back to adventures, back to crime solving, back to the way life was supposed to be. Sherlock happy, Moriarty dead, the world turning.

Instead it had stopped. Mycroft was angry and upset, but confused as well, with guilt eating into his mind, heart and soul. He had caused this. He was late. He was too fucking late. If he had just been a little quicker, a little healthier, if he had just paid more attention to his brother in the last few days, he would have been able to save him.

* * *

_If I hold out my hand_

_Would it change where you're standing now?_

_Just come back to me_

Oh Sherlock, stupid boy but dearest brother, why didn't you wait? Surely you knew I'd come after you..why didn't you wait? I know it wasn't your fault, perhaps it was even my call that unsettled you and allowed him to take hold and pulled you over. Were you alive when you hit the bottom? Did you hit your head on the way down? Did the waves in the pool gentle rock you off to sleep? I need to know if it was peaceful or painful. Please, can't you just tell me? Can't you just come back to me?

"S-Sherlock. Please. Sherlock p-please don't do this to me. Not again. I..I can't" The barrier broke and the tears came flooding out. Sherlock, Sherlock please. Please be ok, please be alive. I can't. I can't handle this a third time. I don't know what to do. What do I do Sherlock?

"Forgive me S-Sherlock, I was too late. And now I've lost everything."

I was too late and you paid the ultimate price.

Forgive me.

* * *

_If I hold out my hand_

_Would it change where you're standing now?_

_Just come back to me_

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Song is shortened slightly. I will post an author's note soon because I want to thank you all for supporting this story.


	84. Author's Note

 

There will be a sequel.

You see originally I wanted this to be a maybe ten chapter fic or something. Not very long. I was annoyed that I couldn't find fics that dealt with other characters beside John, that showed the funeral as well and how they coped. And that wasn't slash. I wanted a realistic fic that showed how his fall affected everyone. Before this fic I had only answered prompts. Aside from my introspections. So I thought, screw it, I'll write my own. And then suddenly I had all these ideas. And it just kept getting longer and longer.

Around the 50 or 60 chapter mark I realised, I'm nowhere near done but this amount of chapters is getting ridiculous. So I made a decision. Cut the story in half and make a sequel. Leave it on a cliffhanger to create interest, just like Moffat and Gatiss did. I didn't want it to end all happy because the theme of this story was grief, pain, sadness, etc.

So the sequel will contain these things but the overall theme will be hope. They will all reunite, it won't be right away because unlike the first fall, Sherlock has some very real injuries. Mycroft will get his revenge and we have much left to see of Sebastian Moran. Sherlock's reunion with John is mostly planned out. It would not be omg your alive, let me punch you and give you a hug. Because frankly, John's going to be pissed and then even more pissed when he learns about Normund and Basil.

And then there's Mary.

There will be tears and laughter but I really want you all to know that this story will be continuing, in another fanfiction. I tried to upload this last night to save you from the pain but the net was turned off. Well it was based 3 am...

This is been bugging me for ages, I really wanted to tell you but I didn't want to spoil it. Only two people knew. They will remain nameless.

Thank and look out for the sequel. I will post it soon.

 


End file.
